Brothers of Darkness
by Kiltedforpleasure
Summary: There's a traitor in the Dark Brotherhood, one that tries to frame Lucien Lachance for the murder of mostly female members. And the evidences against him are most convincing Will he get out of this alive? Please note, that this will not follow the storyline of the game, though all the major characters are there plus a couple of OC's
1. Offering

Night had fallen over Tamriel, blanketing the Colovian Highlands with its velvet darkness, while countless cycads filled the night air with their music. On a half forgotten dirt road, far away from the next bigger city, sat a shabby little inn, mostly frequented by bandits, marodeurs and murderers. The perfect place for those who need to hide from the law.

In a locked room in the back of the inn lay such an outlaw in an unquiet slumber. The young elf had already the blood of the innocent on his hands. Maybe it was his conscience, that made him twist and turn on his bed. Maybe it were the memories of his little Ashland tribe, he wished to forget. The dark shape in the shadows moved slightly to get a better look at the mer. For a Dunmer he had quite dark skin, almost like the night itself. It helped, merging with the shadows. Though is white hair stood in stark contrast to his skin. A smirk appeared on the shapes lips. That could be dealt with.

Silently the shadow in the dark moved closer to the bed, the head slightly cocked to the side. When Ghost had left Morrowind, he had a different name then, a different heart and most of all no idea how life in Cyrodiil would be like. It didn't take him long to discover, that it was best to stick to the shadows, especially if you earned your living as an occasional thief. And if need be, he would himself cover with rags and pose as a blind beggar. Ghost had most unusual eyes for a Dunmer. So light in colour, that they seemed almost milky white, but he was by no means blind.

As time went on, Ghost learned that he would not be able to fend of himself with what little he got out of begging and thieving. And like his hunger grew, his despair grew the same, until the need was too great to bear. So he had slain a fat Bosmer for a couple of coins and a loaf of bread.

The deed had satisfied his need, his hunger, for a while, yet he found himself hunted. Though the mer had been sure, that he wasn't seen as he took the Bosmer's life, he felt eyes watching him. Feared that the Imperial guard was already chasing after him. He had no idea, who was after him. Ghost ended up on the run, driven by his own paranoia, he avoided the main roads, until ending up in this shabby tavern.

He thought he could rest easy there. Thought he was under his kind, every face belonged to an outlaw each. And yet his sleep was uneasy and finally Ghost was awoken by his uneasy sleep, by a cold chill, that had entered the small bedroom, despite it being a warm night. Unwilling to open his eyes just yet he pulled the covers up and around his shoulders. But the chill would not go away, even more so as the hairs on the back of his neck rose with the uneasy feeling of being watched. Still tired, he opened his eyes, only to see a blurry dark shadow standing motionless at the foot of his bed. His eyes snapped open and he sat up with a gasp. A man, most likely an Imperial, was watching him out of the shadows of a black hooded robe, a sinister smile on his face. For a moment the Imperial regarded the young elf with a cold stare before he opened his mouth to speak.

"So you're finally awake. Good."

His voice was deep and smooth.

"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer."

Young Ghost frowned at this comment. He had never been a morning person and being awoken from sleep in the middle of the night did nothing to lift his mood, but how did that man know about his past crimes? Yet he pushed that thought aside, as he swung his feet out of the bed and straightened his shoulders.

"And I would still be asleep if you hadn't been so rude to wake me up!"

He retorted to the tall Imperial, letting his foul mood show through. The man's face darkened as the thick eyebrows knitted together and with a voice that was still smooth yet cold and dangerous he asked the elf.

"Bit lippy, aren't we?"

Ghost rolled his eyes, getting more annoyed by his nightly visitor.

"Who are you?"

It was less a question, more a demand. The man's eyes narrowed slightly, dangerously.

"I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood."

The man introduced himself, a scowl still on his face. Ghost felt his heart sped up a little. He had heard of the Dark Brotherhood, through hushed whispers. Nothing concrete yet enough to know that it was a guild of murderers, not unlike his native Morag Tong. So someone wanted him dead? His family most likely? He sighed, having hoped to have heard the last of his tribe.

He tried to keep his voice calm and even as he asked:

"Dark Brotherhood? So you are here to kill me? Then try and make it quick, but spare me the small talk."

Ghost had hoped that his snarky remark would prompt the assassin to attack and end his miserable life. The young elf had no weapon on his body, as he was used to sleep only in his underwear. His dagger and bow lay out of reach proficiently blocked by the Imperial's body.

Lachance heaved an annoyed sigh. His patience was running dangerously thin with that young man.

"For talking like this I could have your tongue."

He hissed through clenched teeth.

"Unfortunately, I'm here to make a proposition, Filnar."

At this the elf's head snapped up sharply, the gaze of his unnerving white eyes narrowing on the assassin.

"How do you know my name?"

"The Dark Brotherhood knows much."

Lucien replied cryptically, regarding the elf who called himself Ghost with a long stare out of dark cold eyes. Ghost pressed his lips into a thing line, guiding his own gaze to the floor, he choose to remain silent.

"You prefer silence then?"

Lucien asked sarcastically.

"Fine. Your work, your deathcraft pleases the Night Mother."

A short pause, to see if he had the elf's rapt attention. He had.

"That is why I'm here, offering an opportunity to join our rather... unique family."

"Family..."

Ghost echoed. The one thing in life he never really had. Not since his brother had left Vvardenfell, had left him behind. A smirk appeared on Lucien's face.

"So I have your attention. Good. Now listen well."

Another short pause.

"Go to Bravil, find a woman named Carmila. Kill her and your initiation will be complete."

Lucien reached into the folds of his black robe and very carefully revealed a dagger. He examined this blade a moment, running his cloved fingers almost lovingly over the cold blade, before offering it to Ghost.

"Take this dagger as a token. It's a virgin blade and thirsts for blood."

With a shaking hand, Ghost accepted the blade. It was an ebony dagger and quite beautifully made. This surely would bring him a couple of Septim's and fill his stomach for a while. With a smirk he raised his eyes to the assassin who was staring at him with unwavering eyes and emotionless face.

"And if I refuse?"

He asked, still smiling, still thinking about what he could do with such a fine blade. The cold dark eyes of the assassin seemed to stare into his very soul for a long moment, before he answered

"Then our ways will part here."

Lachance paused, before adding with a voice that promised pain and suffering.

"For now. But I do hope we'll meet again. One way or another."

Ghost's smile froze on his face. He was no fool and he knew a threat when he was presented with one. His eyes shifted to the blade while his hand grew sweaty, while the assassin turned towards the door. He didn't made a sound as he moved, but before the tall man was fully engulfed by shadows he almost purred.

"A word of advice Dunmer. Drop that attitude when you speak to a superior in your new family. Not everyone is as patient as am I."

With that the assassin was gone, taking the unnatural chill with him while Ghost stayed behind, shaken and confused.

Family. He had always wished for that.


	2. an unexpected visit

A lone rider clad in black had passed by the fair city of Cheydinhal and followed the steep road up into the Valus Mountains. On this road, just a little northeast of Cheydinhal lay the crumbled remains of an Imperial fort. Once an important keep to the Legion the ruin was now infested by rotting guardians.

Lucien Lachance bend his head backwards and slightly to the side, earning a loud crack. He sighed heavily, for once yearning for the looming silence inside the decaying walls. He had travelled the whole night and most of the day and was more than just a little way worn.

 _I'm getting to old for this..._

he mused bitterly, reaching forward and gently petting his mare's sweaty neck. Fifteen years ago, when he was just newly announced Speaker, he would have laughed at such a journey. Again he sighed heavily, his thoughts returning to the young Dunmer he recruited in the night. The mer showed potential, yet Lucien was not to happy about the elf's attitude. This could be the cause of trouble, if he chose to fulfil his contract. And somehow Lucien knew, that he would. Perhaps not today but in the week to come.

 _Well, I'll deal with that later._

The Imperial thought, finally pushing all thoughts about that elf aside. He had never tolerated troublemakers in his Sanctuary and he was experienced enough to deal properly with a lack of manners.

 _Besides, there are more pressing things, that need the attention of the Black Hand._

He concluded as he rounded the last corner. He passed the broken archway, as Shadowmere threw her head up in alarm. Beneath his black hood, his eyes widened a bit in surprise.

"What in the name of Sithis..."

He hissed through clenched teeth, as he gave the dapple grey gelding, who was peacefully grazing in the fort's yard a good look over. Big horse, well fed and well groomed he noted, as he hopped from Shadowmere's back and gently caressed her nose.

"Looks like we have a visitor, old girl."

He stated the obvious, before he turned towards the big wooden portal and pushed it open.

"I hate visitors!"

He hissed under his breath and melted into the shadows of the ruins hallway.

"Especially the unannounced once!"

Every once in a while an adventurer would find their way into his private lair. A nuisance, especially taking care of the body afterwards. Normally he would just threw them into the wild. Here were enough wolves and mountain lions around to take care of any body. Still, he was a secretive man and he was not very fond of such occurrences.

For a moment he stood perfectly still, his dagger at the ready and listened. Down, in the hall he could hear the shuffling of the dark guardians. Beneath his hood, he raised an eyebrow and slowly made his way to the opening. As far as he could see, his guardians were all accounted for. Unusual, since adventurers had the nasty habit of destroying them. He made his way past the walking skeleton and down the trap riddled hallways.

 _No body..._

he wondered silently and with each step he took, his anger grew. Whoever found his way into his lair, was careful to evade the traps. Silently as the shadows surrounding him, he reached the end of the long hallway. There he stopped for a moment, fully engulfed by darkness. The iron gate, that kept his dark guardians out of his living quarters had been opened and torches and candles were lit. The assassin gridded his teeth together in sheer anger, while fantasising about killing that little maggot, who had the balls to break into his home.

He snug closer until he was finally able to see the intruder. A slender Dunmer was sitting at his desk, between stags of contracts. His long ravenblack hair was combed to the right, to reveal a shaved skull with red tattoos circling the left side of his face. Ashlander tradition, Lucien noted.

The dark elf had his chin propped up on one arm and played with Lucien's Blade of Woe, clearly bored out of his mind, while he sat there waiting.

With an angry growl, Lucien stepped out of the shadows.

"What in all Oblivion are you doing here!"

Lachance growled. It was not a question, more a demand, yet the Dunmer seemed utterly unimpressed by the sudden appearance of the murderer and the chilling tone in his voice. He stabbed the Blade of Woe in a map of Cyrodiil and slowly raised the gaze of his blood-red eyes to Lucien.

"A hello wouldn't kill you, Cyrodiil S'wit!"

The elf retorted in a deep gravelly voice, his face as unamused as Lucien's. The Imperial's frown deepened, as he raised the hand, that still clutched the dagger.

"Maybe. But I know what would kill you!"

For a brief moment the mage only glared at him, reminding Lachance of one of his fellow Speakers. But unlike the hotheaded Uvani, this Dunmer finally leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest.

"Fine,"

he grumbled with a sigh of resignation.

"That blind fool Raminus has send me to the Dark Fissure."

Lucien stopped unlacing his over garments and shot the mage a sideways glance. The Dark Fissure was a cave south of Cheydinhal, about a two hour ride from Fort Farragut.

A dark shadow flashed over the Dunmer's face and his voice lowered to almost a feral growl as he continued.

"To...investigate...some necromancers."

With a slight smile, Lucien folded his clothes neatly up, now proudly displaying the dark red hand print on his black robes.

"And you don't intend to go there,"

he concluded finally turning to face Sorilkad Malur.

"Still practising?"

The conjurer of the mages guild let out a dry humourless laugh.

"Ha! Right under Archmage Traven's nose! Though I need to be much more careful these days."

Sorilkad finally stood up, straightening his light blue robes out and stepped around the desk.

The scowl on Sorilkad's face only deepened, as he eyed Lucien suspiciously.

"But it would appear, as if I'm not the only one that needs to exercise a lot more care in his job, now would it, Lucien?"

Sorilkad's remark earned him a sour look from the assassin.

"In my line of work, one has always to be careful, Sorilkad. You know that."

The Dunmer mage nodded.

"Still, Lucien. I've heard your guild is having some serious... troubles... lately."

At this, the Imperial's head snapped up, his eyes darkening in an unspoken warning.

"Trouble? I don't know what you're talking about."

His voice was low, yet rolled of ominously from the ancient walls.

"No?"

Sorilkad asked, his red eyes narrowed.

"Dead assassins showing up all over Cyrodiil? All brothers and sisters of yours. Doesn't ring a bell? Don't take me for a fool, Lucien!"

Their gazes locked for a couple of heartbeats, until the Imperial turned away, shoulders slightly slumped.

"Oh this is bad. With news already this widely spread, the Dark Brotherhood will loose its reputation. Besides the Black Hand has no clue, who is murdering our members. We've considered the Morag Tong, but ruled them out already."

The mage nodded, his gaze turned to the floor in thought.

"Ever considered that the problem may lie within your own ranks?"

At this Lucien turned, an incredulous look in his dark brown eyes.

"A traitor? Here? No! This is my Sanctuary! I know these people, I've brought most of them into the Dark Brotherhood myself. And some are even like children to me. I know, they would never betray me!"

Sorilkad sighed. He had anticipated such a reaction. The Dark Brotherhood was after all a tight knit community and Lucien was more than loyal to his friends. A trait, the Dunmer really liked about the assassin. Slowly the slender elf closed their distance and put a comforting hand on his friends shoulder.

"Another sanctuary maybe? Someone who might hold a grudge against your guild?"

He offered, knowing the thought had already crossed the Imperial's mind. He could see it in his eyes.

"But why?"

Lucien's troubled gaze searched the Dunmer's face, but Sorilkad only shrugged.

"That is for you to find out."

He squeezed the other males shoulder a last time reassuringly, before he headed over to the rope ladder leading to a secret entry.

"Maybe you should turn towards the Thieves Guild. They have eyes and ears in every city."

Lucien only nodded thoughtfully. The elf grabbed the rope ladder and put one foot on it, but before he pulled him up he stopped.

"Oh and by the way. I left some potions in your cabinet, you'll surely find useful."

He was rewarded with a rare smile and a nod. For a moment Sorilkad's eyes grew soft as he muttered.

"Tear miragag'har ohn, muthsera."

And then the Dunmer was gone, leaving Lucien Lachance to the silence and his own dark thoughts.


	3. Trouble's first signs

It was not until two month after the little visit Sorilkad Malur had paid him, that Lucien was finally able to visit Cheydinhal Sanctuary. And though the thought of a traitor in his family plagued him on a daily basis, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Contracts seemed to flow in in a steady stream. Sometimes Lucien suspected, Ungolim only flooded him with contracts purely out of spite.

Night had already fallen and he walked through the silent streets. Out of habit he stayed in the shadows, his soft leather boots barely made any noise on the stone pavement. He had pulled the hood of his garments deep into his face. Partly to keep the damp cold night air out, partly because he wanted to remain undisturbed by eventual passers by. As he finally reached the abandoned house, he took a careful look around. On the far end of the little plaza in front of the chapel stood a lone guard. Lucien was aware of the ridiculously high fines the new captain of the guard had established. Lucien was sure that Ulrich Leland's name would sooner or later appear on a contract. The guard on duty however was far from attentive and leaned against the wall, ready to doze of. Cheydinhal had always been a quiet town. Lucien smiled at the irony of this. Another careful look around. Even if there were guards around with more watchful eyes, they would not have been able to see him. Out of habit he had cloaked himself in an invisibility spell. Silently he pushed the door open far enough to squeeze through and made his way straight to basement. He was looking forward to meet with Vicente Valtieri. He was sure the old vampire would be able to help him with his current problem. He always trusted the wisdom of his friend. Besides he hoped to get some contracts off his back. Silent as the night itself he entered the tunnel, as he got aware of the soft footfalls echoing through the ominously red lit corridor. Lucien slowed down and let go of his cloaking spell. It was not his intention to startle any family member, leaving the Sanctuary. Ghost, the young Dunmer, Lucien had recently recruited stopped as he got aware of his superior blocking the small passage. He had changed greatly from the last time he had seen the elf, mostly because now he was wearing a dark leather armour, with a matching hood and facemask. Lucien could see the dark elf melt into shadows perfectly, only the unsettling almost white eyes stood out like shining gems.

"Out to spill some blood?"

The imperial asked his brother. The elf nodded.

"Yes, Mr. Lachance."

The answer made the man smile, as he remembered the young elf being a bit more snarky in his remarks.

"Ah. So you've got some manners after all. I find your etiquette quite... refreshing."

The posture of the young man slumped a bit as he reached up with one hand and scratched his head.

"Sorry about that. I'm just not a morning person."

A deep chuckle burst from the Imperial's chest.

"Well then, I'll make sure to meet with you in the noon. Is that your first contract?"

Again the young mer nodded, fidgeting with his hands almost nervously.

"Yes, Sir. I'm to kill a pirate captain."

Lucien Lachance nodded, as he remembered the contract. Should be an easy kill. With a slight bow of his head, he stepped to the side.

"Walk with darkness, child of Sithis."

Lucien finally dismissed the murderer. Ghost gave him a short nod, before he hurried upstairs to the basement door, getting out of the chill aura that surrounded the Speaker. Lucien Lachance chuckled as he was reminded of himself as a young man. He had been so eager to please the Night Mother. Well he still was. With a sigh, he straightened his robes out before he opened the black door, yet stepped not out of the shadows. He liked to observe first. He was met with laughter. It was always a mystery to him how a sanctuary full of murderers and cutthroats was bustling with life, like any tavern would. He spied his Silencer together with Vicente and Ocheeva, happily chatting away. A scowl appeared briefly on his face, as he watched his Silencer. She seemed in a good mood, yet he knew that could change rapidly. She had been acting quite strangely recently, often having almost irrational moodswings. He braced himself, before he made his way over to the trio. It was Vicente, who spied him first and their conversation died down upon his approach. For a very brief moment Lucien's step faltered. Once he had been amongst them, laughing, joking and socializing. But ever since he was promoted Speaker, he only very rarely came to the sanctuary. It was like he was isolated from his family, the lower ranking members would just not treat him with the same ease as Vicente did. The old vampire had been his mentor and would always be his friend, one that always welcomed him with open arms.

His Silencer, Boudicca however, flashed him a very bright smile as he stepped up the group and turned towards him.

"Well that's a surprise. You look good today, did you do something with your robes?"

the Imperial woman greeted him, running her gaze up and down his body.

 _Oh here we go again..._

Lucien groaned inwardly, but tried to keep a straight face, as he greeted his Silencer. He had absolutely no idea, what was wrong with that woman and just hoped they would be able to talk reasonably this time.

"Boudicca, a well met coincidence indeed. I was looking for you."

The woman's smile grew even wider, as she closed their distance. He drew a deep breath, he was not very fond of people entering his personal space without being invited to do so. He shifted his weight uncomfortably but she did not seem to notice. Or didn't want to notice.

"You know I'm always here for you, Lucien."

Her voice suggestive. She tilted her head sideways, again looking him over with her blue eyes.

"Now look at all the muscles on you. I'm sure you are training very hard."

Boudicca softly ran her hands over his chest, feeling his solid body beneath his layers of robes, but missing his eyes darkening in suppressed anger. Lucien however did notice the look Ocheeva shot Vicente, a mixture between amusement and embarrassment. Lucien frowned deeply as he took a step back from the woman in front of him and evaded her groping hands.

"Take your hands off of me."

he growled deeply through clenched teeth. He really should teach her a lesson for this kind of insubordination. Boudicca didn't seem impressed though, as she followed him, running her indexfinger along his arm, giving him a small pout.

"But Lucien, I was only admiring your robes and physics."

She looked up at him, giving him her sweetest look she could muster.

"Maybe we could... train together..."

She suggested her voice low and rich. Lucien's frown only deepened, as he reached into the folds of his robes and produced a random scroll.

"Here."

He grumbled, shoving the scroll into her hand.

"If you desire training so much, here's a contract for you."

Her gaze turned cold as she opened the scroll, while Lucien side stepped her.

"Vicente..."

He started but was cut short, as Boudicca grabbed his arm and pulled him around, almost shoving the scroll into his face.

"What is this!"

She snapped.

"A contract that needs fulfilment. You need training, so I suggest you be on your way."

"That's a joke, isn't it? That's work worthy for a lowly murderer! Send the new one!"

Lucien Lachance closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to keep calm.

"Our new brother is already on his way to claim a life. As should you be, but if you are not fit to do your duty, just say it. I don't have time for this nonsense."

The woman's grip of the scroll tightened so much that her knuckles whitened.

"Lo and behold our mighty Speaker! If you're too busy to engage in conversation why don't you go hide in your little lair!"

"Shut it, Boudicca, my patience is running thin..."

"Pffff. If only your ego was as thin as you patience. Again! This is no contract for me! I'm beginning to think you want to replace me!"

"If you continue to act this way, I indeed consider to do so! And send you to another sanctuary, demoted of course!"

At this her blue eyes grew wide and her face paled.

"You..."

"You get out of here now, before I forget myself!"

She stared at him for a couple of heartbeats, her face turning from pale to angry red. Without another word she turned around and headed out of the sanctuary, not even glancing back once.

Again, Lucien took a deep calming breath, as he watched her retreating form wondering what was wrong with that woman. Behind him, the Breton vampire cleared his throat.

"I believe you wanted to talk to me?"

Lachance turned with a thankful smile.

"Yes. I would like to have a word with you privately."

The vampire inclined his head and lead Lucien into his private quarters, closing the heavy wooden door behind them and locking it. As he turned he found Lucien sitting at his desk with the probably most sour face he had ever seen in his entire unlife. Vicente couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's expression, which only caused Lucien's scowl to deepen.

"Looking at you face, I could swear you are part Dunmer."

The vampire teased with a light chuckle. Lucien only glared at the Breton yet remained silent. Vicente's smile only widened as he pulled a chair up to his desk and took his seat.

"Oh? You prefer silence then?"

He asked the Imperial, who rolled his eyes.

"Don't mock me, Vicente. I'm still your superior."

At this Vicente's smile finally died away and with a sigh he replied.

"But you are my friend as well. A friend, that seems in need of a good advice. So, what troubles you?"

Lachance leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in order. He had hoped he could get some inside of how the Brotherhood had dealt with traitors before. Sure there had been brothers killing each other, but this seemed to be on another scale. But now his recent run in with his Silencer had him worried as well. Finally he cracked his eyes open and was met with Valtieri's stern, but patient gaze.

"Actually there are a two things, you might help me with."

The vampire inclined his head, a sign that he was listening.

"I understand, that Boudicca is very fond of this Sanctuary, despite her position. But I noticed that she has changed greatly every since the last few month. Do you know what is wrong with her? I just not able to have a perfectly normal conversation with her, without her getting all upset."

Again Lucien's dark eyes met the pale red once of his friend, but the Imperial was surprised to see them sparkle with a benign smile. A smile that lit up the whole of Vicente's face. Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"What? Am I missing something?"

At this the vampire laughed heartily.

"Yes! Indeed you do!"

He leaned forward a bit and in an almost fatherly tone he said.

"Lucien, can't you see? She has fallen for you!"

Lucien was taken aback.

"What? No..."

"She has only eyes for you as soon as you enter a room. She craves your attention so badly it almost hurts watching. Yet you deny it to her. No wonder she reacts like she just did."

Lucien shook his head, while his gaze dropped down to his hands. He had indeed not seen that coming.

"Oh that can't be good. I cannot give her what she wants, I've only chosen her because she is good at what she does..."

He stopped for a moment, digesting the new input he just had received. Maybe giving her to another sanctuary wasn't a bad idea after all. He had enough on his mind as to be involved with a love stricken Silencer. He sighed deeply.

"Besides, as it is, I'm practically married..."

"...to Ungolim."

Vicente finished Lucien's sentence, causing him to look up.

"I've noticed. That little Bosmer has you running all over Tamriel."

The Imperial huffed.

"If he keeps you that busy, your Silencer will shoot him one day."

Again there was that mischievous tone in the Breton's voice.

"That's not funny, Vicente. He is our..."

He was cut though, as Vicente leant back in his chair, on arm draped over the backrest and continued.

"And then you and Boudicca would be free to ride off into the sunset."

"Vicente, stop it!"

"You'll have plenty of children, though I hope they do inherit her mother's traits..."

Vicente Valtieri was stopped by the fist that slammed down on his desk.

"ENOUGH!"

Lucien Lachance had jumped up from his chair and fixed smaller male with a glare that promised pain, if he dared to continue. Immediately the older man got serious again.

"By Sithis, Lucien! It was just a little joke."

Slowly the Imperial relaxed, sitting down into his chair again. With a tired gesture, he ran his hand over his face and then through his hair, throwing his hood back in the process. He took several deep breath, before he regained his selfcontrol back.

"I'm sorry, Vicente."

He vampire flashed him a smile in acknowledgement.

"So what is it, you are really hear to talk about. Does the Black Hand trouble you?"

Lucien Lachance shook his head.

"No. It's more like the Black Hand IS in trouble. Surely you've heared about the deaths in our family?"

Again Vicente Valtieri nodded, his expression grim.

"Yes. Rumours start spreading. Has there been another one?"

"No. Not yet. It worries me non the less. And there is something that keeps plaguing my mind. What if there is a traitor amongst us?"

The old vampire stared at his superior for a while, digesting what he just had heard. It made sense though. The first couple of deaths could have been accidents, unfortunate mishaps in the line of their work. But the latest victims bore the handwriting of a person experienced as a killer. Finally Vicente folded his arms across the chest.

"I have to admit that something struck me as familiar with our latest loss."

At this Lucien's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed on Vicente.

"You have seen the victim?"

"Unfortunately yes, though it was through mere coincidence."

A raised eyebrow prompted the Breton to elaborate further.

"You remember the contract in the Imperial City? I was hiding out in the Sideways Cave after it's fulfilment. On my way back I looked for someone to feed upon. That was when I stumbled over our poor sister. She had her neck slashed almost from ear to ear, almost decapitating her. Something was odd though. She was experienced, she would not let anybody just sneak up on her like that, still her body showed no signs of defence. It was like she had known her killer."

For a long moment Lucien was silent, before he asked in a calm yet flat voice.

"Why haven't you told me of that?"

Vicente shrugged.

"I couldn't. You've been out running business somewhere. And I couldn't investigate her body either, there was an Imperial Legion soldier coming. He was the one who found the body right after I did."

At this Lucien nodded. If the Legion had caught Vicente he would be dead now as well. Still those news only deepened his fears.

"So, you too think, she was slain by a member."

Lucien concluded finally. Vicente heaved a heavy sigh.

"It would appear so. The way she was cut...It looked familiar."

The vampire stopped, considering Lucien with an odd look that lasted only a heartbeat.

"I could swear I have seen this before. And the lack of defensive wounds. It leads to the conclusion that she was killed by one of us."

He finished, his voice low. Slowly Lucien stood up and began pacing around the room, while his friend only watched the brooding Imperial. Finally Lucien stopped in his pacing and turned towards the vampire.

"Do you know what that means?"

For a moment the vampire fixed his gaze on the floor, before he whispered.

"Purification."

Lucien nodded.

"Yes. Purification, the eradication of every Brother and Sister in a Sanctuary."

Lucien started pacing again, head bowed in thought. He did not notice that Vicente had stood up and started to mirror his speakers actions.

"When I was a still a new member, I witnessed the Purification of the Crimson Scars. I was lucky to be spared, because I only recently joined the Brotherhood. It was a massacre, but at least the Black Hand knew who the culprit was. What about now? Does the Black Hand have any clue as to whom the traitor might be?"

Both men stopped their pacing only to stare at each other for a long moment of silence. Finally Lucien shook his head with a sigh.

"No. Not the slightest. I just had the suspicion that it might be a member, but with what you've witnessed the Black Hand should be informed."

The vampire only nodded, not breaking his silence, while Lucien turned towards to door. Before he unlocked it how ever he turned back to his old friend.

"No word to anyone about finding the body. The Black Hand might come to a wrong conclusion."

He unlocked the door, yet hesitated to open it.

"You survived the one Purification, Vicente, only because you've been the newest addition to the family, right?"

"Yes. I was beyond all doubt."

Lucien nodded, his gaze fixed to the vampire's red eyes.

"I want you to lay low for a while. If our new member should receive a letter from me, wait until he left the sanctuary. Then flee. And take our family with you."

Vicente's eyes widened for a moment.

"Do you know what you are saying?"

He received no answer.

"Lucien, what you are implying is treachery. You could have yourself killed if they found out that you gave these orders..."

"I know Vicente. I know. Yet I vouch for everyone here. This is my family. The only one I have. I will see to it, that the traitor is stopped!"

Again their gazes met, a deep understanding between them, that didn't need any words. Taking a deep breath, the Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood pulled his hood up again, and left the Sanctuary as silently as he had come in. Leaving behind a deeply troubled Vicente.

Ten minutes later he still stood frozen to the spot, as a soft knock came from his door. Seconds later it opened to reveal Ocheeva, worry clearly written all over her face.

"Vicente? Is everything all right?"

The old Breton forced himself to smile as he turned towards the Argonian.

"Yes. Yes, everything is fine."

His fellow assassin cocked her head to the side.

"And why do I not believe you?"

Vicente Valtieri averted his gaze to the floor. This was a matter, he was not willing to speak about, besides, he knew that Lucien came to him for personal advise. Ocheeva sighed.

"Come on, Vicente. I saw Lachance leave. I haven't seen such a grim face in a long time. And then you didn't join us for dinner, I figured he gave you a good mouth full. What have you done to anger him?"

Vicente gave Ocheeva a truly relieved smile. Unbeknownest to her, she had given him a way out of his dilemma.

"I did not have much to anger him, he was in a bad mood already. He is not happy about the way Boudicca behaves and I think I made a little too much fun about it."

"Aw now Vicente. Not the brightest idea of yours. At your age, you really should know better."

The Argonian grinned, closing their distance and putting on arm around the slender man's shoulder and gently leading him out of his room. Vicente chuckled lightly.

"Can you believe, he had no idea what Boudicca's problem was."

They shared and amused look, before both laughing heartily.

"Though one of us should really talk to her. It will not end well otherwise."

Beside him Ocheeva nodded.

"I'll talk to her as soon as she returns. I do not wish for her to be send away."

They joined the evening with the others in idle chat and though Vicente found comfort in the company of his fellow Brothers and Sisters, he could not stop thinking about the impending doom the Sanctuary might in.


	4. Ghosts and shadows

Ghost heaved a relieved sigh as the towers of Cheydindal castle came into view and he slowed his horse down into a trot. He was tired, the faint smell of fish and sea still hanging around him and he was in desperate need of a bath and new clothes. And though he was near the city and weary the still kept a watchful eye to his surroundings. Tamriel had always been a wild and dangerous place for travellers. Not only because of wild animals roaming the country side. But the night brought forth other, more deadly creatures. Goblins and ogres for example. And ghosts. The young Dunmer took a cautious look around. Every now and then, one would encounter the animated skeleton of a fallen Legion soldier. Still patrolling the streets, like they had in life on their big undead steeds. The assassin shook himself. It was upon his arrival in Cyrodiil, when he ad encountered such a soldier, remembered the unyielding strength of that being and was happy his big stallion was faster than the undead horse.

Finally the city gates rose in front of him and a tired smile appeared on Ghost's face. At least his mission had been a full success and he was sure that he would get his bonus from Vicente.

 _He will be happy to hear, that his advise of hiding in a crate really came in handy._

The young Dunmer thought, his smile growing.

 _Next time though I will not hide in a fish crate..._

He rode past the guard at the city gate, who gave him a pretty funny look. Maybe he was smelling more like fish than he thought. It was in the early morning hours as he finally reached the abandoned house. He jumped of his steed behind the house and let him graze and rest there. His stallion had quite the temper so he was sure, that no one would try to steal him. Not without suffering major injuries.

Chuckling he walked up to the barred front door and took a good look around. The gaze of his light coloured eyes fell upon a black and white paint horse opposite of the street. A frown appeared on his face. He hadn't seen that horse here before and this part of the town had no traders. Again he carefully looked around until he was sure that he was not watched and slipped into the dimly lit hallway. Quickly he stepped over to the basement door and reached for the knob, only to let his hand hover inches away from it. The hairs on the back of his neck raised as he felt the pair of eyes in him. Slowly he let his hand drop to his side and turned around, scanning the shadows.

"I know you are here. You can come out now."

There was a moment of silence until a dark mass moved in the shadows and finally stepped into the light. Ghost was faced by a slender man in a dark, tight fitting leather armour, with matching hood and mask. Non of his brothers he noted.

 _That would only leave..._

A scowl appeared on Ghost's almost hidden face.

"You mangy thief! Tried to rob me? I should have your hands for that!"

Ghost hissed at the other man, but the thief only huffed.

"Come now. Don't be so arrogant, Filnar Za'uana. If I'm a mangy thief you're a stinking murderer... Quite literally!"

At the sound of his name, Filnar's eyes widened.

"How do you know my name?"

He asked, his voice a little too shaky for his own liking. The thief gave him a good laugh and slowly removed his face mask and hood to reveal ebony skin and short white and rather unruly hair. His purple eyes sparkled amused as he looked into Filnar's still wide eyes.

"I should know my brother's name, don't you think Filnar? Even though it's been a long time, since we last met each other."

"Izzdrin? How...Why..."

Ghost stammered before he finally caught himself. With an angry motion he jerked his hood back as well.

"What are you doing here?"

The older mer smiled.

"I was having dealings here. By chance I saw you leave a couple of days ago and thought I wait for your return."

The scowl on Ghosts face deepened.

"What do you want!"

He hissed. Izzdrin raised an eyebrow.

"I just wanted to say hello."

Izzdrin paused a moment and took a step closer to his brother and reached for his shoulders.

"You look good..."

With a growl, Filnar shrugged his brother's hand off.

"What do you really want?"

Izzdrin sighed his gaze dropping to the floor. He lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I already told you. I had business in town."

Ghost huffed.

"You mean you were robbing houses."

Izzdrin's head snapped up.

"At least I don't go sneaking around killing people at random! Why, Filnar? Of all the guilds in Cyrodiil. Why an assassin?"

Ghost turned away, looking toward the decrepit staircase leading to the upper level. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine, before he looked over his shoulder.

"You need to leave, Izzdrin. It's not save here. Not for you."

"Filnar..."

The mer whirled around.

"Filnar is dead! He died back in the Ashlands, when his brother decided to leave him behind!"

He stopped a moment, seeing the shocked look in his brother's purple eyes.

"It's Ghost now!"

Izzdrin shook his head slightly, sighing. He himself had given him another name when he joined the Thieves Guild. But to hear those words was like a slap to the face.

"Fine. Ghost. Look, I'm sorry I left home, but..."

"You left home! You left me! You promised to take care of me, you...you knew mother couldn't. You left me to her drunken stupor and those men..."

Ghost stopped as images flooded his mind. Images he longed to forget. About his mother, too drunk to walk straight and the men of their little clan taking turns on her. They were cruel and ruthless mistreating her and him. He shook his head in frustration.

"Ghost, I had to leave to support..."

"You are a filthy thief! How could you support any of us! You'd done better to take me with you!"

Izzdrin stared at his younger brother for a couple of heartbeats, not knowing what to say. He only had the best intentions when he left for Cyrodiils. He wanted to take young Filnar with him, but it would have been too dangerous for a child. Maybe he underestimated the dangers that lurked at home. Maybe he had lost his brother after all.

"Ghost..."

He whispered but his brother had already turned away.

"Leave, Izzdrin, there is nothing more to say."

He heard his brother shuffle behind him and seconds later he felt a hand on his shoulder. Anger suddenly rushed through him. The anger that had fed and infected his spirit ever since his brother fled in the middle of the night. With an angry growl he whirled around and gave his brother a good push to the chest. With a surprised gasp, Izzdrin stumbled backwards, but Ghost was over him in a mere second. His younger brother kicked his legs out from under him in a quick motion and he crashed to the floor, too surprised and shocked to react properly. And then Ghost sat on his chest, pressing a fine ebony blade to his throat. Fury made Ghost's eyes glow.

"LEAVE!"

The younger male shouted at the top of his lungs

"LEAVE AND NEVER RETURN!"

And then Izzdrin was free, as his brother jumped up and retreated to the door, the dagger still in his trembling hands.

"Leave."

He said for a third time, his voice trembling, yet low.

"You've given up on your family a long time ago. I have found a new one. There is no room for you."

Without a look back Ghost opened the basement door and left his brother behind.

It took Izzdrin a long moment to find the strength to get up. He had never meant for hurting his little brother so much. But he recognized now, that in leaving, he had pushed him so far from his family that he would not even wear his name. He left the house a broken man, with head hanging low. He missed the pair of eyes watching him.

Izzdrin still didn't pay any attention as he walked through the still dark and silent streets of Cheydinhal, his horse following him on a loose rein. His head was still swirling, the words of his brother on a constant loop in his mind. It felt like he was stabbed over and over again. He let go of Lex's reins to rub his hands over his face. Only then he realized that he hadn't bothered to pull his hood up again. But as for now he couldn't care less.

 _What have I done?_

He asked himself over and over again. But as hard as he wrecked his brain, he could not find an answer to that. He left, because he wanted to make things better, not making it any worse.

Again he heaved a sigh, as he felt tears sting behind his eyes. He blinked, trying hard not to cry openly even if he felt like it. With his gaze still fixed to the ground he walked by a dark alleyway between two huge buildings as he was suddenly pulled into the dark and pushed up against the stonewall. A gloved hand tightly clasped over his mouth, smelling of leather and iron and stifling his surprised little yelp. His eyes widened in shock as he was met with cold dark eyes.

"If you scream, you die. You understand?"

The man asked with a dark menacing voice. Izzdrin nodded and the hooded man slowly took his hand away from his mouth. Cruel eyes roamed the Dunmer's face. Izzdrin swallowed hard. This was no bandit, no common criminal. No that Imperial gave Izzdrin the creeps and the sudden chill that filled the alleyway didn't help. A cruel smirk appeared on the Imperial's face, a smirk that promised pain.

"Who are you?"

Lucien finally asked with a coolness in his voice that let the mer's hair stand on end. The Dunmer took a deep breath. He just found and lost his brother, he hit rock bottom of his emotional life, he would not let his dignity be taken away by a random cutthroat as well. Creepy as he might be. In a defiant move he put his chin out and said:

"Depends on who wants to know."

The smirk on the Imperial's face widened to a smile, which never reached his eyes. He changed his weight a bit, pressing the slender Dunmer against the cold wall harder, while one of his hands closed around the mer's chin. A glowing, obviously enchanted dagger appeared in Izzdrin's line of sight, making the elf swallow nervously. The touch of the cold blade's tip on his cheek caused a chill to run down his spine.

"It's not nice to answer a question with a question."

Lucien said in the coldest voice Izzdrin had ever heard. His gaze was fixed by the dark eyes of the Imperial's and suddenly the elf was deeply afraid. There was a gleam in the man's eyes, an excited dangerous look that spoke of bloodlust and murder. The Imperial cocked his head to the side.

"Now you can answer my question, little man. Or you can suffer."

Again the hooded man made a pause.

"So let's try again. Who are you?"

Still in his tight grab, Izzdrin rolled his eyes.

"Gee. What is it with you assassi..."

Izzdrin was cut off mid-sentence as the blade was dragged over his cheek down to his jawbone, leaving behind a burning cut. He could feel his warm blood running down his jaw and neck.

"Ah ah ah. Was that a question again? I think it was. You are a naughty little elf aren't you?"

The assassin wiped his blade clean on Izzdrin's dark armour.

"Who are you?"

He asked again, his voice chilling cold.

"Look... I wont tell anybody about your little...ah"

Izzdrin cried out in pain as the blade was again dragged over his face, elongating the cut over his eye, forehead to his hairline. Blood was now flowing into his eye, blinding him for a moment as he tried to blink it away. Lucien's smiled widened, as he leaned forwards, crushing the elf's body further and whispered into his ear.

"Don't worry. You wont be able to tell anybody."

Izzdrin's eyes widened in horror as he finally grasped the meaning of the Imperial's words. Lucien chuckled, turning the mer's head to the side with a tight grip that was sure to leave marks, while he licked the blood from the tip of his blade.

"Who are you."

No question this time. The Dunmer licked his suddenly dry lips.

"Sh-Shadow!"

He stammered only to cry out in pain again, as the blade was dragged over his cheek again, this time from the inner corner of his eye to the edge of his jaw bone, crossing the previous cut.

"The next cut will take your eye."

Lucien coolly said, staring the elf down with unsympathetic eyes.

"Who are you."

He asked again, his voice almost a low growl. The elf pressed his eyes shut.

"Izzdrin. My name is Izzdrin!"

He blurted out, almost awaiting the pain of another cut. Pain that never came. Careful he opened his eyes to look into the dark cold orbs of the assassin.

"I see we made progress."

Lucien drily commented.

"Now Izzdrin tell me, why were you in that house. Surely not to look for valuables."

He said it jokingly, tapping the blade against Izzdrin's chest.

"I … I didn't know it belonged to..."

He stopped as he saw a glint in Lucien's eyes.

"And there I thought you learned your lesson."

The man said matter of factly while he stabbed the blade into Izzdrin's upper arm. Slowly. Careful not to damage major vessels or nerves but making sure it was painful. As much as he loved hearing his victims cry, he did not want the attentions of the guards, so again he pressed his hand firmly over the elf's mouth. Tears were streaming down Izzdrin's face as he struggled through the pain. Lucien twisted the blade slightly, feeling the elf struggle to break free from him. But Lucien used his whole weight and body to wedge the mer against himself and the wall.

"I like you, little Izzdrin."

He whispered, his voice smooth and velvety, getting excited by the smell of fear and blood coming from the slender Dunmer, who had ceased his struggle and started to tremble.

"So I help you a little. I know you lingered around the house for a couple of days. Tell me. What business do you have with Ghost."

Slowly he loosened his grip over the young elf's mouth. Izzdrin took a shaky breath in, turning his head to the side.

"Don't you know that already?"

He whispered and instantly biting his lower lips. Slowly he raised his gaze to meet the assassin's dark eyes.

"What shall I do with you?"

The Imperial almost sighed in resignation as he covered the elf's mouth again and twisted the knife around in the arm. Izzdrin's whole body shook as wave after wave of pain exploded through his upper arm and down his spine. The enchantment of the dagger made the wounds burn like he was set on fire. He had been reduced to a sobbing mess in a matter of minutes.

"A shame really. You know, I take no joy in torturing you. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Lucien brushed a strand of bloody, sweaty hair out of the elf's face, almost like a father would.

"What did you want from Ghost."

Again Izzdrin took a deep shaking breath in.

"He... he's my brother. I just wanted to see him. Please... "

Izzdrin's voice broke and his head sagged forwards in pain and exhaustion. Lucien's grip on him loosened ever so slightly, permitting the Dunmer a little more space to breath.

"And yet he is not fond of seeing you."

Lucien said, his voice low. The elf nodded, casting his gaze down.

"That's a nice way of putting it."

"Why?"

Izzdrin looked up in confusion, but then shook his head with a deep frown.

"I left him behind with our clan. Our father died, my mother is a...an addict. She was not able to care for us properly."

"Yet you left him behind."

"He was too small. And I was young. I could not fend for myself and take care of a child. I wanted to get him though."

Lucien pulled his dagger out of the Dunmer's arm in a swift motion, making him groan in pain.

"You failed. But he has a better family now. One that cares for him."

Finally Lucien pulled away from the elf's body, only holding him against the wall with one outstretched arm. Izzdrin slumped forwards a bit, clamping his hand over the bleeding wound on his arm.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

He asked the assassin in a flat tone of voice. Lucien lifted an eyebrow.

"I haven't made up my mind yet. Maybe. But maybe you could be useful for me."

Confused Izzdrin looked up.

"But I'm a thief, not a murder..."

In a blink of an eye, he found himself pressed against the wall again, the tip of the dagger biting his skin right over his jugular.

"What have I told you about talking back to me!"

Lucien hissed, staring into the set of terrified purple eyes.

"You are not cut out to be one of us anyway."

The pressure on the blade increased slightly, drawing blood.

"You're guild has eyes and ears in every town. If I want informations, you will get me informations. Fail me and they will find your body in pieces. You understand?"

Swallowing hard, Izzdrin nodded. The blade disappeared from his throat and the Imperial gave him a satisfied smile.

"Good. I knew we could come to terms."

Lucien cleaned his dagger on the elf's clothes.

"I hope you understand that you mustn't talk about our...meeting."

Again the Dunmer nodded.

"Betray me, be sure your death will be slow. And very very painful. And I will know if you talk about the Dark Brotherhood. "

The Imperial finally let go of the terrified young mer and sheathed his dagger. He regarded the elf with a long cold look before he turned away and left into the breaking dawn without making a sound, taking the chill air with him.

Izzdrin let out a long breath and slowly slipped down the wall, his legs suddenly not able to support his body any longer. He was still shaking and his heart was racing in his chest, so fast it was almost painful. He raised a hand to his face and carefully felt for his cuts. He had the feeling that he was marked permanently by that bastard. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, relieved to be alive. It was then he got aware of the wet spot between his legs, but he was too far gone to feel embarrassment.

"By the nine..."

He whispered. He just wanted to curl up into a tight ball and cry. Never before had any one been able to terrify him so much. Yet, he pulled himself up on still unsteady legs and stumbled out towards his horse. He struggled to get into the saddle but Lex had always been a patient horse. Maybe by the end of the day, he would be back at the Waterfront District, being able to rest and heal. And clean up. And far far ways from this assassin.


	5. Troube ahead

Vicente paced through his private little room in the Sanctuary. It had been a week since the Speaker last paid them a visit and the Breton was worried to say the least. Worried, because of the disturbing turn of events Lachance had shared with him. And worried because as for now, neither the Speaker nor his Silencer had returned to the Sanctuary. It struck him as odd, since Boudicca often came for a visit after completing a contract. And that one was so easy she should have come back days ago.

 _Maybe she is still angry._

He thought.

 _Or Lucien has her running over Cyrodiil as some form of sick punishment._

He sighed and turned to his cabinet, only to find it empty. Again he sighed and looked to the door.

 _How am I supposed to stay low?_

He asked himself.

 _If I don't go out, I'm going to starve!_

The gaze of his pale red eyes fell on his cape. He already looked haggard and frighteningly thin. He needed to feed, besides his hunger was burning inside him like a fire.

"Oh screw you Lucien. I need to go out!"

He muttered under his breath as he threw his cape around his shoulders.

"Besides what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over. Lachance wont know I've been out and about."

He opened the door and quickly made his way through the hallway. The sanctuary was quiet. Some members were still on contracts, while others spend their free time in the common area. There have been no new contracts coming in. And how could they with Lucien out there. Somewhere.

The vampire made his way over to the hole in the wall, leading to the secret entrance. He passed by their newest addition. For a moment Vicente stopped. Ever since the young Dunmer returned he seemed shaken, even though he performed well at his first contract. At this moment he considered asking young Ghost what plagued his mind, yet he ultimately went for the door. He was too hungry to listen properly anyway.

Silently he made his way out the city and past the stables. There were always bandits around the city. And if not, he would simply pay a visit to Harlun's Watch.

In the end, he indeed ended up in Harlun's Watch, since he could not find any travellers or bandits along the street. He licked his lips as he slowly walked back to Cheydinhal. He had made a mess. A mess, he was definitely not proud of. But when he saw his sleeping victim, saw the pulse on the neck, heard the heart beat, he couldn't contain the beast within him any longer. He took such a ferocious bit from the neck, that blood sprayed all over him. His hands and hair were still caked in drying blood, as were his clothes. With his next victim, he was more restrained and was able to refill some of his bottles.

He looked down at his hands. They were still coated in crimson liquid.

 _Oh dear. I definitely need to use a cloaking spell to sneak back into the city._

He thought to himself with a satisfied smile. It would raise every red flag in Tamriel if he walked past the guards bathed in blood. Luckily there were enough caverns around Harlun's Watch to blame the recent deaths on something else, beside he had heard rumours about villagers disappearing in that area.

Vicente took a deep breath in to calm himself down. He still was excited from the hunt, his senses on high alert. He stopped dead in his tracks. Did he just smell blood in the air? Slowly he inhaled again.

 _Yes. There is a faint smell of freshly shed blood in the air. And it is not coming from me._

A frown appeared on the old vampires face. Could it be and there was another vampire on the hunt that night? He wasn't aware of any other of his kind living around Cheydinhal. He would not tolerate that either. Too many vampires tended to attract hunters and adventurers. He walked on, careful not to make a sound, following the smell of freshly shed blood.

He neared a bend in the road and though the view was obscured by a very large boulder he knew that he was close. The smell was overwhelming by now and his eyes started to glow in suppressed blood lust. Out of habit he cloaked himself in an invisibility spell and silently rounded the corner, only to freeze on the spot. Right in the middle of the road lay the body of a newly slain victim and a dark cloaked man couching beside the body. And uneasy feeling took hold of the old Breton. Something with that scene just felt wrong. Careful not to make himself known to the stranger he inched closer. His eyes grew narrow, as he took in the slender legs, clad in a dark leather armour, the bloodied light brown hair, the head bend sideways in an unnatural angle and the unseeing blue eyes still wide in terror. The hooded man in front of him slowly stood up, and something glinted in the fain light of the stars. Vicente was horrified, so horrified indeed, that he didn't even noticed that his spell wore off. The man wore a black robe with matching hood, the victim a light leather armour. It slowly clicked in the vampire's mind, as he still stood frozen to the spot, his eyes widened in disbelieve and horror. A shrouded armour. A Black Hand robe. Shrouded armour, blue eyes.

"Boudicca..."

Vicente whispered.

"By Sithis..."

He just could not look away from Boudicca's broken body. Away from a throat cut so deeply from ear to ear that her head was almost severed. He had seen that kind of work before. Had seen it done so often. He still did not react as the man swiftly closed their distance. He just couldn't. And then he was pushed painfully rough against the boulder, the sharp blade of a dagger pressed against his throat.

"What are you doing here!"

The man growled, his eyes almost black in anger. Finally Vicente was able to look away from Boudicca and into his Speaker's eyes. His gaze narrowed. Now he knew where he had seen that kind of handiwork before. Not only on the latest victim he happened to come across. But it was Lachance's preferred method of killing. A slit throat, quick, silent and very messy.

The pressure on his throat slightly increased as Lucien growled:

"I've asked you something."

Again Vicente's gaze wandered to where Boudicca lay and he felt his anger rising. Felt his blood starting to boil. A deep growl escaped his lips as he bared his fangs. And drew his knee up in a quick motion, hitting his Speaker where it hurts most. The dagger nicked his skin only slightly as Lucien let out a painful gasp and stumbled back a few steps clutching his private parts with his free hand. Vicente did not wait for Lucien to recover as he rammed his shoulder into the Imperial's chest. The impact was enough to send Lachance to the floor. With his vampiric speed and strength Vicente straddled the taller male's torso, pinning the hand with the dagger under his knee.

"It was you!"

the vampire hissed with a ferocious growl while slapping Lucien's face so hard, his head flew to the side and his lip cracked open.

"You killed Boudicca!"

Another punch to the Imperial's face.

"Why brother? Why did you betray us!"

Valtieri wanted to strike again, but hesitated a moment, hoping to get some answers for his questions. A moment he hesitated too long, as Lucien seized this opportunity to buck his hip up and sideways, throwing the smaller Breton off balance. The trained fighter he was, Lucien was not about to give up so easily as he quickly reversed their roles, now having Vicente pinned to the ground, letting his whole bodyweight rest on the vampire's unbreathing chest and pressing his shins down painfully on his upper arms. Vicente gave a growl of frustration as he tried to struggle free but found himself at the taller, heavier male's mercy. And then the enchanted dagger was yet again pressed against his throat, this time however so hard that the blade bit into the sensitive skin right where his chin met his neck. He could feel blood slowly run down to the back of his neck.

"Look who's talking!"

Lucien said in a low and very menacing voice, wiping the blood away from his chin, while giving the vampire a good look over. There was a murderous gleam in his dark eyes as he pressed the dagger deeper into the Breton's skin. The vampire bared his teeth in a low growl.

"You just happen to stumble over her body as well? Like you did with our other dear sister? A bit much of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Lucien cocked his head to the side, squinting his eyes.

"Besides I am not the one covered with blood!"

"I was FEEDING!"

"You really want me to believe that?"

Lucien leant forward, feeling his shins grind against the Breton's armbones.

"Believe what you want Lachance! You are not the one with a knife against your throat."

Vicente stopped searching Lucien's face for a sign of emotion. Searching for something, but there was only this murderous rage in his Speaker's eyes.

"I knew I had seen this method of killing before when I found Heniele's body! But seeing you now over Boudicca's body. Seeing the same wounds... This was your handiwork all along. You are known for that method of killing!"

Vicente Valtieri again stopped, the feeling of betrayal as heavy on him as his Speaker's weight. And still there was no emotion in the other's face. The Breton shook his head in disappointment.

"She was your Silencer. She trusted you, damn it Lucien she loved you. How could you have done such a vile act against your family."

Still Lucien did not move, did not react to anything the vampire said. He just stared down at the other male, his jaw set in a hard line. And then Vicente moved his head, exposing his throat just a bit further.

"Kill me now, Lucien. It doesn't matter. The Black Hand will take notice. Sooner or later they will be on your trail and hunt you down like the vermin you are."

Vicente closed his eyes and waited for his throat to be cut. He couldn't remember when he had felt so let down in the past 300 years of his unlife. He always regarded Lucien his friend ever since the Imperial came to their sanctuary. How could he have been so wrong. And then the weight on his chest and arms was gone. Slowly he opened his eyes, Lucien was gone. A confused frown appeared on his face as he slowly sat up and felt for his throat. He was sure he was going to die, but Lucien only left a superficial cut on his throat. He looked around and found Lucien again kneeling over Boudicca. The Breton's frown only deepened as he slowly walked over to his Speaker. For a moment he just watched as Lucien carefully closed her eyes, before he slowly stood and turned towards Vicente.

"Why are you here?"

Lucien asked, his voice still low, yet missing the menacing tone.

"I was hungry Lucien. What do you expect me to do? Starve to death in the Sanctuary?"

Vicente answered pointing in direction of Harlun's Watch. Lachance only nodded and turned to look at Boudicca again. Slowly the old assassin closed his distance to his Speaker, overthinking the whole situation. True, neither Lucien's clothes nor blade had blood on them. The vampire bit his lower lip. Had he been jumping to conclusions?

"Speaker?"

He finally asked, but the Imperial did not react. A heavy silence settled over them, as they stood heads bowed in thought.

"I don't understand..."

Lucien finally muttered, his face grim.

"She should have been back from the contract days ago. She only had to kill an old man at the Inn of Ill Omens."

Again he paused, finally turning towards the vampire.

"What delayed her? Who did this to her?"

Vicente shook his head and raised his shoulder in frustration. He had asked himself the same questions.

"I don't know. But..."

Lucien's eye narrowed.

"But what?"

Vicente sighed and ran a hand through his ruffled messy hair.

"Speaker Lachance, I am sorry I hit you. But look at her. This is strangely reminiscent of your handiwork..."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"You really thought I would kill my own Silencer? I have picked her out personally because I trusted her experience."

Vicente looked miserable.

"You have not gotten along with her very well..."

The Imperial huffed.

"So you quickly jumped to the conclusion that I did this? How long have we known each other. I've always been loyal to our Dread Father."

The vampire gritted his teeth together.

"Look. I have no idea what you are up to ever since you became Speaker."

Lucien shook his head, disappointment clearly written all over his face.

"And you have to understand me. Look how this looked, you being bend over her corpse, knife in hand. What would you have thought in my place?"

Vicente shook his head.

"I just put two and two together."

Again he paused, running his finger over his bloodied throat.

"As did you, did you not?"

The taller male ran his hand over his cracked and bruised lip and for a moment studied the blood on his finger tips, taking in a deep breath. His chest protested slightly and there was still a dull pain throbbing in his groin. A slight smile tugged at the corners of Lucien's mouth.

"You pack quite the punch Vicente. Fortunately I don't plan on having children."

The vampire looked away in shame. He was sure, that this would have some repercussions later. He just had broken a Tenet.

"I...I'm sorry, Speaker La..."

"Ach come on now, Vicente. Don't Speaker me! You jumped to a hasty conclusion as did I. I think we are even."

Lucien paused, looking down at Boudicca again."

"Besides, we have a more pressing matter to focus on."

Vicente nodded.

"What do we do about her?"

Lucien sighed and let out a loud a shrill whistle.

"Help me put her on Shadowmere's back. I will bury her at Fort Farragut."

They put her on the black horses back with little effort and Lucien climbed in the saddle behind her. He winched involuntarily as he sat down, before he looked down at the vampire.

"You should head back to the sanctuary. Dawn will approach soon and you should really clean up."

The Speaker was about to kick his heels into his mare's flank, but the Vampire grabbed his lower leg.

"Lucien, wait. There is something else."

He licked his lips, while searching for the right words.

"You know, your brothers and sisters at the Sanctuary will be loyal to you. And I apologize deeply for being so disrespectful"

Lucien made a dismissive gesture, as he prompted the Breton to go on.

"But like I came to the conclusion, the Black Hand will too. Lucien look at her. It looks like your work."

The Imperial paled, as words settled in.

"Oh no...no no. Someone tries to frame me!"

Valtieri nodded.

"So it would appear."

"If the Black Hand figures this out, they will hunt me down as a traitor!"

The two assassins shared a glance of understanding.

"Vicente. Protect the Sanctuary. I need to find the traitor."

The old Breton's head snapped up.

"What? Are you crazy? Maybe the traitor counts on that? What if he set a trap? All you need to do is _hide_!"

He held his hands out to his sides in almost an helpless manner.

"I can look for clues."

"No, Vicente! That's too dangerous!"

"Yes, right it is. As it is for you! You can as well serve yourself on a silver platter with a red bow tie around your naked body!"

Lucien cringed inwardly at the images Vicente's vivid description evoked.

"Don't worry. I recently made a new friend at the Thieves Guild. He can look for clues without raising suspicion. Now go."

Though not satisfied with the solution, the assassins finally parted ways and Vicente hurried home. As he reached the sanctuary he was in an uncharacteristicly bad mood. Too many questions were swirling through his head with almost no answers. As he hurried through the hallway he almost ran into Ocheeva. Her eyes widened in shock as she took in his dishevelled bloodied lock.

"By Sithis, Vicente. What happened?"

He only shook his head.

"I was out feeding, the victim struggled. Please Ocheeva I'm tiered!"

The Argonian nodded, though she was obviously not satisfied she did not prod deeper. He would tell her if he was ready to.

At Fort Farragut Lucien put the shovel away and wiped his blistered sweaty hands on his dirty robe, before he gently placed a nightshade on the freshly dug mount.

"Farewell, Sister."

He whispered.

"My the Night Mother hold you in her cold loving embrace."


	6. Puppetmaster

The next morning Lucien Lachance galloped down the road in direction of the Imperial City. As soon as the sound on thundering hooves faded away a man stepped out of the shadows and stepped over to the freshly dug grave of Boudicca Blanchard. With two pointy fingers he picked up the delicate nightshade flower and held it to his eye level.

"Aw, Lucien, you sentimental fool. You play my game so well. Makes me wonder, if someone will show you the same respect, once I squeezed your life out of you?"

He paused and crushed the flower in his hand.

"Oh I fear not."

Chuckling he turned away from the grave and made his way over to the hollowed out tree. He had seen his plan just unfold perfectly. Especially since that accursed vampire had interfered. He could have laughed out loud as Valtieri told him to go into hiding. That was just what he needed Lachance to do. He knew the Speaker would listen to the old vampire. Of course he would take care of Valtieri later. He would kill them all one by one as he saw fit.

 _"_ _You could have killed them both yesterday, while they were rolling in the dirt. They weren't even aware that you were there."_

Mother commented. The Breton sighed, rolling his eyes in resignation as he climbed down into Lucien's private quarters.

"We have been over this mother. The time just wasn't right. Besides we want him to suffer right?"

He looked around the chamber and walked over to a heavy desk with neatly stacked scrolls on it. He had come up with that plan long ago. A plan to make that damn Imperial pay. It wasn't always easy to keep his patience but ironic as it was, the Dark Brotherhood had taught him the discipline to pull it off.

 _"_ _They will all suffer my sweet little son."_

his mother said, causing him to smile. Slowly he sat down at the desk running his hands over the polished wood. Soon this all would be his. He had spent weeks in tracking Lachance down, which wasn't easy. That man was as slippery as an eel but in the end he had succeeded in finding Lucien's hiding spot. Well it would not stay hidden. Not for long anyway- He took hold of a scroll ans skimmed through it. It was a contract.

 _So he isn't giving out work. Oh this is just brilliant. And with him gone now... I'm sure he will not return here._

He thought, his smile only widening. It was time to get to the next stage of his plan, especially since he had to meet someone in Cheydinhal later.

He searched through the drawers of the desk until he found parchment and took out 7 sheets.

 _"_ _You know, you need to concentrate now, my son. You have worked on this so very long..."_

He sighed, pulling a crumbled piece of paper out of his pocket.

"I know mother. I know."

For a moment he just looked at the contract he had received from Lucien so long ago, when he still was a part of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. It had taken him a long time to copy Lachance's elegant handwriting, but had tried and tried tirelessly until he had perfected it. No one would ever question that it wasn't Lachance giving the orders. With a wicked smile he dipped the quill into the inkwell and started writing down six contracts and one request for the Listener. After he was done, he leant back waiting for the ink to dry.

 _"_ _I am so proud of you my son."_

His mother said.

 _"_ _You have done so well. They will do what you want them to do. And then you will kill them. Kill them all for mommy."_

He closed his eyes and felt excitement rush through his body. Never before had he been so close to exert his revenge. Before his inner eyes images appeared of what he would do to Lachance. How the proud Imperial would kneel before him. How he would cry and beg for his life. And he would laugh. Unconsciously his hand wandered down over his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his laced leather pants. Without knowing he began stroking himself, while he revelled in the images his mind conjured. He would strangle Lachance with his own intestines. And when he was done with them all, he would cut the Night Mother's head off. He bit his lips to stifle a groan. He would get known all over Tamriel as the one who brought the Dark Brotherhood down. He would be the hero of Cyrodiil. He freed himself of his pants and began stroking harder while he moaned in pleasure. Of course he would make sure to have his way with some of Lucien's assassins. There was this slender Bosmer bitch and the pretty blonde Breton...

 _"_ _What are you doing?"_

His mother scolded him, causing his eyes to snap open in shock.

"Mommy..."

He gasped, but his mother would have non of it.

 _"_ _Aw you filthy child. Pack that thing away! You are not finished with your work!"_

Hastily he laced his pants up over his still stiff member and wiped his hands on his shirt. He needed to take some deep calming breaths to stop his hands from shaking and will his painful erection to go away, before he was able to seal the contracts shut and place Lucien signet into the red wax. Then he cleaned up the table and put the scrolls into his shoulder bag. A last glance around the place, he would claim as his own and then he left for Cheydinhal.

He leisurely strolled through the streets of the city, reminiscing over his time here. It was a nice little town still, but nothing compared to were he was living now. He found himself a much better place where he could dwell in total privacy. It didn't take him long to find the person he intended to meet. A petite Bosmer girl just walked across one of the many bridges spanning the Corbolo River. She hadn't noticed him yet so he followed her. He liked how the brown shirt and light brown linen skirt complemented her figure. And he liked the way her hips swayed in a very sensual way. It awoke the urge in him to take her right here on the spot. He wanted to hear her scream and beg. He wanted to see the horror in her eyes and then the light die, as he cut her throat like he did with all the others. He took a deep breath. It was not time yet. He closed their distance, calling out.

"Excuse me, miss. I was wondering if you could give me some directions."

The Bosmer turned with a smile, but then her eyes grew wide and she clasped her hands over her mouth.

"Oh dear? Is that really you?"

The young Breton man rewarded her with his most charming smile.

"It is, little Telaendril."

She flung herself around his neck.

"It's so good to see you. Look at you! You look good!"

His smile widened as he cocked his head to the side.

"As do you. You are as pretty as ever. You still running errands for them?"

She nodded, pushing a strand of stray lightbrown hair behind her delicately curved pointy ear.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just some secret business, my Speaker send me on."

He said with a wink, knowing that she had always wanted to get a secret assignment from Lucien. She nodded in understanding, a shadow crossing her face.

"So."

He said, placing his arm around her shoulder, slowly leading her away from the abandoned house.

"What's new in the sanctuary?"

She leaned her head lightly against his shoulder, her gaze turned to the shimmering water for a moment.

"Nothing really. Well we do have a new addition. A Dunmer boy, haven't figured him out yet. He is a bit strange."

The Breton smiled.

"Dunmer are always strange. My Speaker is one too. Grumpy old guy, never seen him in a good mood."

"It's really a shame, you had to leave us. You like your new sanctuary?"

He decided it was now time to rub a little salt into her wounds.

"Yes. It is nice. As grumpy as the Speaker is, he actually gives all the members secret contracts on a regular basis. That reminds me. Have you finally been summoned by Lucien? He surely had to recognize your talent."

She sighed and her gaze turned sad.

"No. Still having the same rooster as usual and every now and then I get a contract from Vicente.

She paused, then her face lighting up.

"I'm not sure if I should talk about it, but you wont believe what happened."

"Aw now. Don't tease me like this."

She smiled, turning towards him and placing a slender hand on his arm.

"You wont believe it. You still remember Boudicca?"

He smiled and nodded.

 _Oh yes I remember her. I know her inside and out, quite literally._

He thought, as he remembered how he had taken her over and over again, until she was raw and bleeding. How she begged him to stopped, how she begged Lucien to safe her and how she ultimately prayed to the Night Mother for help.

"And you remember that she had this thing for Lucien?"

His smile grew wider.

"She totally blew it recently. She was so blatantly flirting with him, that he almost lost it. He told her off and even threatened to get rid of her."

"No way. He did?"

He asked. This was turning out way better than expected. Everything was falling into place so nicely, convincing the other Speakers would be a piece of cake.

"He did. You should have seen it. They were yelling at each other. I really thought for a moment he would kill her right there on the spot. He was so angry..."

The Breton shrugged

"You know him. He can be quite moody."

He made a pause and carefully picked that stubborn stray strand of hair out of her face again and gently places it behind her ear.

"It was nice meeting you, Telaendril, but I fear I have to leave you now."

"So soon?"

He nodded.

"I need to report back to my Speaker. He's waiting for me."

She nodded in understanding before she hugged him again and whispered into his ear.

"Stay safe, may the Night Mother guide you."

He hugged her back and with his face set in a hard line he said.

"You too. Hope we meet again soon."

With that they parted.

He was still smiling as he mounted his horse. He would be back here soon, that he was sure of.

* * *

Oblivious to what had occurred in Cheydinhal, Lucien had finally arrived at the Arcane University. With his plain black tunic he usually wore over his Black Hand Robe while travelling, he looked like another mage and thus the guards just ignored him. They weren't even looking at him. Mages from all over Cyrodiil came and left here on a daily basis. It made him smile. No wonder a certain necromancer was at home here, those fools were so oblivious. With his confident even stride he walked over to the living quarters and took a look around. He couldn't find his friend so he stopped a random mage and asked for directions. He was pointed to the library.

He found Sorilkad buried in books. It made him smile, he looked like a ferocious Ashland warrior but turned out to be a bookworm. He cleared his throat to make his presence known, but Sorilkad did not even bother to look up.

 _Snobby as usual._

Lucien thought, as he again cleared his throat more pointedly this time. But the Dunmer still did not look up. However he finally got a response out of him

"What?"

he snapped with his deep gravely voice.

"Go bother someone else, can't you see I'm reading."

A wicked smile appeared on Lucien's face, as he quickly glanced around.

"About the fine art of necromancy I presume?"

He asked with his velvety voice. Sorilkad's head snapped up.

"Are you crazy?"

He hissed, and then realising who paid him a visit, he let the book drop to the desk.

"Lucien? What do you want?"

The Imperial's smile only widened.

"A _hello_ wouldn't kill you, Dunmer."

The mer rolled his blood red eyes.

"Here to mock me?"

Lucien shook his head.

"No. Actually I wanted to ask for your help."

Sorilkad leaned back in his seat, regarding the Imperial with a long surprised look. Finally he slowly stood up and rounded the desk.

"Come. We talk in the backroom."

The Dunmer mage said in a hushed tone and led the assassin into a windowless and stuffy room. Lucien took a quick glance around with raised eyebrows. That little room had practically no free space left, everything from the walls and the floor was littered with books and scrolls.

 _That room looks like my personal nightmare. How is anybody supposed to find something in this mess?_

The Speaker asked himself with a look of disdain in his dark brown eyes. Lucien turned towards Sorilkad, who had locked the door with a strong spell. His face was stern, as he regarded the Imperial with a scrutinizing gaze, before he closed their distance. The mer narrowed his red eyes and grabbed Lucien's chin with a surprising strong grip to get a better look at him, but the Imperial jerked his head away.

"I see you had fun."

Sorilkad stated dryly earning an angry glare. The mage pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Since I am sure you don't want a spell for a split lip, why have you come here? If it's about the dead Sister, they found outside the city forget it. I'm not digging up graves in on the Emperor's Green Way!"

The Imperial stayed silent, but his jaw line tightened as he clenched his teeth. A frown appeared on the elf's face.

"Another one? So soon?"

The assassin's face darkened.

"My Silencer."

Sorilkad raised an eyebrow in question.

"Silencer?"

"My personal assistant. I found her with a slit throat right outside Cheydinhal."

The mage nodded and leaned against the door frame, twisting his goatee in thought.

"Sorilkad, I think you were right, there is a traitor in our ranks. It is quite obvious by now."

Again the Dunmer nodded.

"Do you have any idea why or who?"

Lucien fixed his gaze to the floor his brow furrowed together.

"I don't know who is behind the murders, but I think whoever did this is trying to frame me."

The Imperial raised his gaze to meet the mage's thoughtful stare.

"See, the slit throat has been my trademark move for many years. It's quick and the victim cannot scream and alert the guards once the windpipe is cut. And every fallen Sister the last past month had a slit throat."

He stopped and shook his head almost in desperation. Sorilkad pushed himself off the door frame as his interest was suddenly sparked.

"Every Sister?"

He asked.

"Had there been no Brother?"

Lucien looked up.

" Only two so far. The rest had always been women. Why?"

Sorilkad started stroking his beard again.

"Do you know if the traitor had his … way … with them?"

The Imperial turned away from the mage and closed his eyes. Before he had buried Boudicca he had cleaned her. When he took her armour off he was shocked by what he had found. Her body had been littered with bruises. Especially in certain areas, yet someone took care in dressing her up again. He sighed.

"Boudicca was forced upon, I don't know about the others."

Then something else came to his mind and he pressed palms against his brows.

"Oh Sorilkad. Before I send her away I had an argument with her. Apparently she was in love with me and I denied her. Do you know how that would look if the circumstances of her death became known to the Black Hand?"

"It really does look bad for you."

Sorilkad said after a long silence hung between the men. Lucien only nodded.

"What do you want me to do?"

The mage finally asked. Lucien met his gaze.

"I would like to abandon Fort Farragut for a while."

The Dunmer snorted.

"You think hiding is the right course of action right now? Don't you think it would look like a confession of guild?"

Lucien quickly closed his distance to Sorilkad and shouted, his face distorted by a sudden fit of anger:

"What am I supposed to do? The Black Hand will come to the conclusion that I am the culprit. Shall I sit in that dingy fort and await my execution? I want to send the real traitor to the Void. I can't do that if I'm dead."

A deep scowl appeared on Sorilkad's face. Being screamed at was one thing he did not take well.

"Don't you dare talking to me like that!"

He shouted back.

"You don't have a damn clue who did this. And as it looks you've been outsmarted. Damn it, Cyrodiil! Your traitor is always a step ahead. You'll never catch him!"

Lucien was taken aback. There was a truth in the Dunmer's words he had not thought about earlier. His whole posture slumped.

"Then what is the point of fighting if he is always a step ahead? Sorilkad I did not want to hide away. But I need a safe haven if the noose really tightens around my neck."

Sorilkad was silent for a long time, staring at the assassin with unwavering eye, while the other man was pacing the room

"Where do you want to stay? In one of the guildhalls?"

The Imperial shook his head.

"I'm no member of the Mages Guild, and I don't intent of being one."

Sorilkad huffed.

"So you want me to find you a nice cosy hiding spot."

Lucien nodded, an uncharacteristic hopeful gleam in his brown eyes. The scowl on the Dunmer's face deepened.

"Who do you think I am? A guide for better hiding places? You can't be serious."

"Soril. I came to you, because I trust you."

Again the Dunmer snorted in disdain.

"Wrong, Lucien. You came to me, because I am the only one you can turn to."

The Imperial had a sharp remark on his tongue but bit it back. The elf was right after all. Where else should he turn for help? He could camp out somewhere in the wilderness of course, but he was not looking forward that prospect.

"And,"

the sorcerer continued.

"You thought, that I need to have a hideout to make my experiments."

Lucien did not respond. He had indeed hoped, Sorilkad would have such a hideout. Apparently he was wrong about that. He heaved a sigh of resignation and made for the door. He was left with two options now, return to his fort or camp in the wild.

"I'm sorry, I disturbed your … studies. I will not bother you again."

He said with his voice flat, while waiting for Sorilkad to unlock the door. Instead he felt the mer's warm hand on his shoulder, urging him to turn around. The usual scowl was gone as Sorilkad regarded his friend. He knew it must have taken a lot out of the assassin to reach out and seek help. And he was no one who let his friends down. Not in such a situation. He kept his hand on the Imperial's shoulder while his other hand dug around a pocket in his robe. He produced a tiny silver key and pressed it into Lucien's hand.

"Look, Lucien. There is a small farm between Bruma and Cheydinhal. It's called Harm's Folly. Stumbled upon it by chance and found the original owner dead by a grave outside. Had some pretty nasty wounds...I use it occasionally."

He paused, sharing a rare smile with the assassin.

"Give me your map, I'll mark it for you. It is pretty hard to find otherwise."

Shortly after Sorilkad Malur watched the Speaker of the Black Hand depart with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Somehow he knew that this was not going to end well. His friend was in a situation where he could not get himself out unless he had something to point him towards the traitor. A traitor, who was extremely good at leaving no traces behind. And with no witnesses of the murders, there were no clues at all. The traitor had made sure of that.

 _Witnesses_

The Dunmer thought, as he settled down at his desk again and started at the book he was reading.

 _Maybe there are some witnesses after all. Lucien just looked in the wrong places._

Smiling he put the book away and made his way over to his living quarters to make himself ready for travel. He was going to Chorrol.

 _It's time I pay a visit to a friend._


	7. A traitor revealed?

A week went by quietly. Men and mer of Cyrodiil went about their business as usual. The town of Skingrad settled in for the night, people bustling through the streets trying to get out of the heavy rain. It hid the tall stone buildings behind its thick grey curtain and the water washed down the streets in little streams.

Erina Jeranus sighed, as she looked around the ground floor of the West Weald Inn. It was really a quiet Middas evening, yet she had the normal mix of people in her public parlour and was fully booked. Her gaze wandered over the faces, the regular locals clinging to their beers, adventurers bragging about their deeds while wasting themselves away with beer and a sad little excuse of a warrior. For a moment she frowned. The little Bosmer was wasting himself away in this bar for a couple of days now and she wondered why he wasn't staying in the Fighters Guild hall. But then she shrugged, it wasn't her business after all and this mer did not bother her. Not as much as this travelling merchant upstairs did. She did not know why, that Dunmer merchant was a regular as well, booking a room every Middas night and leaving the next day. He always paid for his room and food and kept to himself. Yet there was something about him, that made her uneasy and she was actually quite happy, that he always stayed upstairs, enjoying his wine and then retiring for the night. It was not that she had something against Dunmer in general, even though she found their red eyes unsettling. But this mer... he had a dangerous air about him. She could see it in his eyes that she would be ill advised to mess with him.

Erina shook herself and turned away from the counter, dedicating her full attention to her dirty dishes. She started humming a slow melodie and pulled the kettle with hot water from the fire, pouring it over the mugs before adding some soap. She did not notice the tall Altmer woman entering her Inn and looking around the public parlour. She did not notice her climbing upstairs to the first floor.

The Altmer pulled her dark hood off, as she silently made her way upstairs and looked around. The Dunmer sat with his back to her in an alcove, looking out of the window while sipping on his wine. A wicked smirk appeared on her face and her fingers twitched. Turning his back towards the entrance was so careless. She could easily sneak up on him and put a dagger between his ribs. But that was not the reason she was here and ultimately she made her presence known. The last thing she needed right now, was a fireball coming her way and knowing his reputation that was a likely thing to happen. So she walked up to the man, purring in her sweetest tone of voice:

"Hello lonely man."

He did not bother to turn towards her, but his voice was full of menace as he sneered:

"You get any closer, and I'll turn your bones to ash. Now back off!"

She let out a low husky laugh and ran her hand lightly over his shoulder as she walked around him and sat down on the chair opposite him.

"No you wont."

She was still smiling as their gazes met, but her smile never reached her eyes. He raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Arquen. What are you doing here."

Her smile disappeared and she reached for a glass in the rack and poured herself some wine.

"I needed someone to talk."

She finally said, her voice low. His trademark scowl only deepened.

"You came the whole way from Anvil in this weather, because you needed...someone... to talk?"

He shook his head.

"Hard to believe. What do you want from me?"

Arquen sighed, turning to look out of the window. The rain still hid everything behind its heavy curtain, she could barely make out the lights of the street lamps. She liked the rain though.

"Can we talk somewhere more private?"

She asked without looking at the Dunmer. Alval Uvani regarded her a little while, a sinking feeling in his stomach. She would not have come to him if it was not of utter importance. And as for lately there was so much amiss. He slowly stood up and grabbed the wine bottle.

"Follow me."

He simply said and led her to the room at the end of the hallway. Not perfect, but at least the room had a door to lock. The Altmer Speaker settled herself on his bed, while he leaned against the window. Arquen took a deep breath.

"It's Shaleez, Alval."

She finally said, locking her gaze to his.

"She was killed two days ago."

Uvani turned to gaze out of the window.

"The same as the others?"

He asked, his voice flat. Behind him Arquen nodded.

"Yes. Throat split from ear to ear. Her head was almost decapitated."

The Dunmer's brows furrowed together as he turned to face her.

"Damn, Arquen! This can't go on. The Black Hand needs to act! NOW!"

The slender woman got up and started pacing.

"I know! We need to find that damn traitor. He has started attacking the Black Hand itself. It's only a matter of time and one of us will be his next target!"

Alval Uvani rubbed his fingers over his chin in thought. The method of killing, it was so familiar, there were only few who preferred this method, since it could be quite messy. And only one who actually had the skill to pull such a feat off.

"Any words of Lachance?"

he finally asked quietly. A shadow crossed her face and her hazel eyes darkened a bit.

"No. None at all. Contracts still go ignored as well. It's like Cheydinhal has been shut down."

The dark elf nodded. That were disturbing news indeed and it did nothing to ease his growing suspicion.

"You think, the traitor already got to him?"

Arquen asked, yet her voice sounded as if she came to the same conclusion as well. The Dunmer shrugged.

"I don't know. It is not like Lachance at all to just disappear. Everything he does, has purpose. And he always cared about Cheydinhal."

He took a sip out of his goblet.

"But there is more."

Arquen raised an eyebrow.

"What did you do?"

She asked suspiciously. He sighed, running his hand through his fiery hair.

"I tried to contact his Silencer...and failed."

He let his words hang in the room. Arquen slowly walked up to her fellow Speaker and put her palms against the cool glass of the window.

"Something is seriously wrong in Cheydinhal."

She concluded. She turned to face the Dark Elf, searching his features. And though he still had that scowl on his face, he was known for throughout the Dark Brotherhood, she could see concern in his crimson eyes. He was about to take another sip from his goblet, yet she put her slender hand on his.

"Alval. You know as well as I who uses that method of execution, don't you? I fear that he has taken his Silencer and went rogue."

The Dunmer's gaze hardened. Of course he knew. But he was never the one who would jump to conclusions easily. That stylecould be copied by anyone. And it was after all a quick method of killing. He heaved a heavy sigh, turning to look down at the rainy streets below.

"I was thinking about contacting the Listener as soon as I stay in Bravil."

He said instead of giving her a direct answer. The Altmer woman huffed.

"You think that's a good idea? You know how Ungolim feels about being spoken too."

"But he needs to know! We are getting killed one by one. We have only suspicious and guesses instead of hard evidence. He is our leader he needs to do something about it!"

"And what can he do, we can't?"

She napped at her fellow speaker.

"He IS the Listener."

He hissed, the veins on his throat bloated and prominent.

"Maybe the Night Mother could..."

A hard knock came from the door and both mer immediately jumped simultaneously.

"You expect any visitors?"

Arquen hissed under her breath, her dagger at the ready. The prickle of magicka filled the room and a flame appeared over Alval's open palm, as he reached for the doorknob.

"What do you think?"

He growled back, quickly unlocking the door and ripping it open. It revealed a young Breton man, wearing a shrouded armour under a dark cloak. His light brown wavy hair was soaked from the rain and clung to his head. His cold blue eyes widened with surprise as he saw the pair of angry elves and he took a step back, holding his hands up defensively.

"Speaker Uvani, Speaker Arquen."

He greeted with his smooth voice.

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

Uvani let go of the fire spell and straightened himself.

"Bellamont! What are you doing here?"

His Silencer bowed his head.

"Speaker, I've come across a disturbing discovery."

"Can't it wait?"

The Dunmer snapped. The young man shook his head.

"I'm afraid not. It is concerning Speaker Lachance."

Alval Uvani shared a concerned look with Arquen, before he motioned his Silencer inside. Before he closed and locked the door again, he down the hallways just to be sure they were alone. Bellamont took his coat off and neatly folded it over the one chair in the room, before he turned to face the elves.

"I want to express my regards to you, Speaker Arquen. I have heard word, you've lost your Silencer."

The High Elf arched an eyebrow, yet kept her stoic exterior.

"Unfortunately."

Beside her, Alval shifted his weight.

"Bellamont! We don't have time for your feeble attempts at small talk. Get to the point!"

The Breton male inclined his head.

"Yes. Of course, my Speaker."

Mathieu paused, searching for the right words.

"I intended to stay over night in Cheydinhal after my last contract. I have uncovered some unsettling news."

He paused a moment for dramatic effect.

"I believe Lucien Lachance is the traitor!"

Uvani's scowl deepened even more, yet he was not about to let a fellow Speaker being blamed with something so outrageous so easily. He wanted more proof.

"Lachance has been a Speaker for many years. He has always been faithful to our Dread Father."

Bellamont nodded.

"Until now it would appear. Did you know that his Silencer has been murdered?"

At this both Speakers straightened in shocked surprise.

"Thought though. Lachance made a good job in covering it up."

He took a deep breath.

"When I stayed in Cheydinhal, by chance I met a dear Sister. She told me, that Lachance did not get along very well with his Silencer as of late. Our dear Sister had witnessed an argument between them. He threatened Boudicca, he bullied her. Sent her on contracts not worthy of her rank and told her he would get rid of her, if she would not be at his service as he seems fit!"

"That is a serious allegation, Bellamont."

Arquen said, her tone serious.

"How do you know, Boudicca is dead?"

The young man's gaze dropped down to his hands. As he looked up, there was unmasked pain in his eyes.

"I...I stumbled upon them. He overpowered her just outside the city."

Bellamont sat down, burying his face in his hands.

"By Sithis, it was horrible. He defiled her again and again. She begged for him to stop, but he...he... "

"That's enough, Bellamont. We get the point!"

Uvani cut his young Silencer off. The young man looked into his Speakers face, tears shining bright in his eyes, but he kept his composure. Arquen's face had turned into an emotionless mask.

"Continue, Silencer!"

She urged the Breton on, who's voice was shaking as he spoke.

"After he killed her, he took her to a Fort and buried her their. I don't think he intended to ever tell his Sanctuary about her loss. He left the following morning. You see, Speaker. I was concerned and shocked with what I have seen, I just knew this has to stop. I...broke into his living quarters."

Again he stopped, his gaze wandering back and forth from the elves.

"I know I have broken a Tenet and I expect the consequences but I uncovered these."

He reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out seven scrolls, bearing Lachance's seal. Arquen took them from his hands.

"What are those?"

The young man shrugged.

"I believe these are contracts, but I found them hidden away. I just felt these were important."

Arquen's gaze turned suspiciously as she took a random scroll and opened it. Only to turn pale and hand it over to the brooding dark elf.

"Here. Read this!"

Alval Uvani took the scroll and began to read only to look up, shock clearly written over his face.

"What? That is a joke isn't it?"

He asked looking from Arquen to Bellamont and back to the scroll.

"Your target is a travelling Dark Elf merchant by the name of Alval Uvani, who is currently renting a house in Leyawiin? Alval Uvani's wife has become disillusioned with her husband's repeated, extended absences and wishes to dissolve their marriage?"

He read out loud, his trademark scowl replaced by a mask of utter shock. His gaze met with Arquen's who had looked through the other scrolls.

"What madness has claimed him to write that contract?"

Arquen shook her head.

"Not only you, Alval. Here is one for J'Ghasta, Shaleez, Havilstein, Bellamont and Ungolim. And mine."

Here eyes darkened with hardly suppressed anger.

"How dare he call me a High Elf whore! I should castrate him for that!"

"Arquen!"

Uvani hissed, before motioning to the last scroll.

"And that one?"

"That's a purification request for his Sanctuary. Looks like he wanted to blame one of his assassins."

She shook her head.

"After 15 years as a Speaker. Why would he do that to us?"

She paused, turning towards the window. For a while silence settled in the small room and only the pitter patter of rain against the window was heard.

"You know."

She finally broke the silence.

"After I was informed about Shaleez's death, I made some inquiries. I was able to find an old woman, who told me, she saw a man in a black hooded robe follow her."

She turned towards the men, her arms crossed over her chest.

"The description she gave me sounded a lot like Lachance, but I did not want to see it."

She walked back to the bed and picked out her contract, holding it up.

"Seeing this here! This is his handwriting! He has to be stopped!"

Alval emptied his goblet and nodded.

"I agree. We have to hunt him down and stop his madness."

He turned towards Bellamont.

"You did good, Silencer."

Mathieu Bellamont inclined his head in apparent modesty. His hair covering his face, covering the triumphant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He quickly got himself under control though. One last card to play.

"Speaker Uvani. Speaker Arquen. I do have a request."

They both looked at the Breton, gazes narrowed.

"And what would that be?"

Uvani's old scowl was back as was his frosty tone of voice.

"Name me Speaker and I'll take care of the traitor. I'll see to it that he gets what he deserves."

Uvani raised his eyebrow.

"You have always been an ambitious one."

He paused, sharing a gaze with Arquen, who gave a small nod of approval.

"Fine. When he is dead."

"And this is no matter we can send you on alone. Lachance is a dangerous man."

Arquen continued.

"I will come with you and see how you perform."

Bellamont nodded. This was not what he had hoped for, but he knew that Arquen could be very vicious as well. He had to make the best of it.

"And I have to confront the Listener with those news."

The Dark Elf said, while he began to pack the contracts in his travelling back.

"Best we set out immediately."


	8. Meetings

Lucien walked out of the wood early in the morning. It was cold, yet he did not dare to light a fire. The smoke might draw unwanted attention. He held a small rabbit in his hand, not much but enough to quench his hunger a little. The last week had been quiet, still he grew restless the longer he stayed in the cottage. This was not right. Non of this was right. He should not hide away while someone was killing off the members of his family. Every day he spend there, he had to fight the urge to ride to Cheydinhal and make sure his Sanctuary was safe. He should be out there to investigate. It just could not be that there weren't any clues at all.

He cursed under his breath and walked up to the front door. In the stable Shadowmere whinnied and pounded her foot on the ground.

"Getting restless too, hm, old girl?"

He mumbled and opened the door. He walked through the sparsely furnished living area and put the rabbit on a table ready to skin it, as a frown appeared on his face. He turned towards the door.

 _I could have sworn I locked the door upon leavin..._

He thought. His heartbeat picked up a little as he looked around the room. He wasn't able to see anything, yet something felt very wrong. Swiftly he went over and made sure the door was locked now. Again he looked around the room. The small cottage suddenly felt crowded. And he felt like a rabbit in a trap.

 _Maybe I'm getting paranoid._

The tried to reason with himself, while he drew his dagger and went for his meal again. He did not make it, as he was hit by the brunt force of a lightning spell. It threw him across the room and smacked him into the wooden wall so hard, the wind was knocked out of his lungs. He slid down and lay on the floor convulsing. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness were two darked robed figures stepping towards him.

* * *

Two riders thundered over the Imperial Bridge towards the city. Their horses were sweating and steaming in the chill morning air, as they arrived after little more than an hours ride from Chorrol. The riders stabled them at the Chestnut Handy Stables and made their way into the city.

The tall, red-haired Altmer adjusted his massive Claymore he had strapped to his back and looked around the Talos Plaza, before turning towards his Dunmeri companion.

"So. Don't you think, it's time to tell me, what's going on?"

Sorilkad, who was clad in a guar-leather robe, shot him a glare from the side.

"I need some informations."

Caman Verhane stopped and turned the Dark Elf around on his shoulder.

"You've got to be kidding me. You dragged me out of the Guild Hall at this ghastly hour for informations? Who, in all Oblivion, ripped your skull apart and crapped on your brain?"

The Dunmer's scowl deepened as he tried to stare the Altmer down with an angry glare. But Caman, a battle hardened warrior, did not back down. He just narrowed his bright green eyes and raised an eyebrow.

"Well? I'm waiting."

"Fine!"

Sorilkad growled.

"A friend is in need of assistance. Someone's killing members of his family."

Caman shrugged.

"And?"

The Dunmer rolled his eyes.

"And he has no clue who's done it? Who ever is murdering them, does not leave a trace."

The warrior shrugged again, tracing the scarred edges if his left ear. Or at least what was left of it, since it was cut of almost completely.

"Keep out of that shit! Sounds like your friend upset someone, who contacted the Dark Brotherhood."

The Dark Elf, cocked his head sideways. His friend would most likely rip every assassin, he got his hands on apart. He hated them with the whole of his heart.

"I wont get myself involved. I will just look for some informations and give them to him. Nothing more."

Caman kept staring at his friend, the tribal tattoo on his forehead only darkening the scowl. Finally he held his hands out at his side and said in a frustrated tone.

"Fine. Have your wish. But first you'll by me a nice little lunch and tell me who your informant is."

The Dunmer blinked and walked past the tall mer.

"You never change, do you?"

He led the way to the Market District and a short time later they sat in "The Feed Back", with Caman happily chewing away on his beef.

"So."

He said between bites.

"Who are you looking for?"

Sorilkad took a sip from his tea, regarding his companion with raised eyebrows. He knew this Altmer for a few decades now, he had actually met him back in Vvardenfell and joining the Fighter's Guild did nothing to improve his manners.

"Heniele Millelle."

He answered. A grin appeared on Caman's face.

"Breton? Hope she's pretty."

Sorilkad sighed with an onset of slight frustration and buried his face in his cup again.

"Yeah Breton. But I wouldn't get your hopes high."

An Imperial waitress approached them to ask if everything was alright. A bright smile lit up Caman's even features as he pulled her on his lap in a quick motion.

"Would be better with a sweetheart like you by my side."

The woman struggled and slapped him across the face, causing him to let go and hurried to get behind the counter.

"I love it, when they are playing hard to get."

He said before he turned towards his Dunmeri friend. The mage had buried his head in his hands in embarrassment, eyeing the other mer through his fingers.

"Verhane, you'll get yourself in trouble one day."

The grin of the elf's face widened.

"My dear Sorilkad, take a good look at me. Do I look like I'm afraid of trouble?"

Sorilkad raised his gaze, studying his opposite's face closely. Caman looked quite different from the average High Elf. He was tall and muscular. His body was covered in a fair amount of scars and tattoos. His most prominent features however were found in his face. A tribal tattoo on his forehead, piercing green eyes and bright red hair pulled up in a high pony-tale, fringy bangs hanging into his face. His face was as well littered with small white scars. And then there were his ears. One missing completely, being cut shorter than a human's. The other one had a huge piece missing in the middle.

"If you were a bit more careful, you would at least have a full set of ears..."

He Dunmer finally commented. Caman chuckled.

"Fuck off, Malur."

He said, taking a bit swig of beer.

"So, how does she look like?"

He then changed back to their task at hand. Sorilkad shrugged.

"I don't know."

The Altmer rolled his eyes.

"Aw, come on, Soril. Do you at least know where she lives?"

"Yes, basically."

For a moment the High Elf froze, regarding his companion with an incredulous look.

"Basically? We have to ask around then?"

Sighing, Sorilkad Malur emptied his cup, it was time to tell Caman his plan. Well part of it, any ways.

"No. We'll find her easily tonight."

"Tonight? TONIGHT?"

Caman almost choked on his beer.

"You dragged me here this early, when your... date... is tonight? Oh by Molag Bal's balls! Sorilkad, what where you thinking! You really expect me to hang around this snobby city and kick one's heels?"

The Dunmer glared over the table.

"I have some shopping to do. You can stay here for all I care. Just don't get yourself wasted."

Caman leaned back in his seat, glancing over at the bar maid.

"Oh I think I'll have some fun then."

The Dunmer stood up with a swift motion, an angry glow in his eyes.

"N'chow ohn adur ot hla s'wit!"

He growled in his deep gravelly voice, causing the Altmer to laugh out loudly.

"Juohn, dealha."

Sorilkad left the Feed Bag muttering under his breath, leaving behind a smiling Caman.

* * *

Lucien jolted awake as a bucket of freezing cold water was doused over his head. He gasped and sputtered from the shock, while looking around in a slight state of panic. He was still in Harm's Folly, seated in the middle of the living space on a wooden chair. He was naked and bound so tightly, he already felt his hands tingle from lack of circulation. Involuntary shivers from the cold shook his body, as he finally looked up right into a set of cold hazel eyes.

"Arquen..."

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. It didn't bode well, that she was here. Not well at all. He looked around. Beside her stood a young Breton male, he knew too well. Mathieu Bellamont. He had been a member of his Cheydinhal Sanctuary until he became Silencer. Arquen smiled at him sweetly and positioned himself between his legs. She trailed her gloved fingers over his cheek, before she lifted his chin.

"Hello Lucien."

Her voice was almost sultry, but there was a cruel undertone as well.

"So good we finally found you. Didn't take you for a woodsman."

She chatted away, while her hands trailed over his twitching pectoral muscles.

"We really need to talk."

She straightened herself and turned away from him.

"Arquen. It is not like..."

He started in his rich low voice, but was cut off by the tall woman.

"Oh but it is, Lucien. Don't try to fool me. You are going to tell me why you betrayed us."

Her voice had turned as cold as ice.

"I am not the traitor!"

Lucien said as calmly as possible. She turned, a cruel smile on her lips.

"Oh I had hoped you play that game. Mathieu if you would be so kind?"

The young man's lips stretched into a smile, as he walked over to a table and picked out a pair of tongs. His eyes gleamed cruelly as he grabbed Lucien's right hand, and broke his little and ring finger. The Imperial bit his lips, but couldn't help to grunt out as pain shot through his arm.

"Why did you betray us?"

Arquen asked again.

"I am _not_ the traitor. Someone tries to frame me."

Lucien hissed through clenched teeth. Almost disappointed, Arquen shook her head and made a sign to the Breton. This time he broke Lucien's middle and index finger. He revelled in the sound of snapping bones, Lucien's laboured breaths and grunts, as he tried not to let his pain show through. This was far better than he had ever imagined.

 _"_ _Enjoy yourself my sweet little son."_

His mother whispered into his ear.

"Do you take me for a fool?"

Mathieu heard Arquen snap, which brought his attention back to the tall Altmer.

"You have killed Shaleez. Her throat slit like with all the others. This is your handiwork Lucien."

Lucien blinked in surprise.

"She is dead?"

Arquen's scowl deepened, yet she remained silent. The snap, with which his right thumb broke echoed loudly through the cabin.

"I had no idea! Arquen. You have to believe me, I have always been...argh!"

This time he could not prevent letting out a pained cry, as his other little finger snapped snapped. Then his ring finger followed and stayed being bend back to the wrist.

"You stubborn sod. You betrayed us and still you have the balls to lie in my face?"

Arquen hissed.

"I am NOT lying."

Lucien growled, as he finally felt anger rising. A growl, that turned into a hiss, as two more fingers snapped.

"I have always been loyal to our Dread Father!"

Arquen sighed and turned towards Bellamont.

"What shall we do with him?"

Mathieu smiled wickedly, as he clamped his hand around Lucien's face and forced the Imperial to look up.

"Oh we could pull his teeth out next."

He let go of Lucien's face and opened the pliers, before he put Lucien's private parts between its jaws. He applied just enough pressure to make the older male gasp and flinch.

"Or we could take his balls."

The Altmer woman cocked her head to the side, as if considering that suggestion.

"Hm..."

She pursed her lips tapping her index finger against them, while Bellamont increased the pressure a bit more. Despite the cold, Lucien began to sweat and he pulled on the ropes holding him desperately. The raw material bit into his skin, yet did not come loose.

"No. Not yet."

She finally said and as the pliers disappeared the Imperial breathed deeply. The High Elf stepped over to the captured Speaker and cupped his face.

"You've always been a handsome man, you know that? Of course you do. I bet the ladies in your Sanctuary would do everything for you."

She bend down and gently bit his lower lip. She could feel him tense.

"I bet they would all be happy to warm your bed."

Her lips ever so lightly touched his.

"Why did you kill Boudicca?"

She whispered and straightened up.

"What?"

Lucien looked at her in shock.

"How did you find out..."

As soon as those words left his mouth, he knew that he made a mistake. He could see it in her eyes, that she caught his mistake too.

"Oh? No denying this time? Looks like we made progress."

Lucien growled in frustration, pressing his eyes shut a moment.

"Arquen. I did NOT kill her. I...found her."

The Altmer chuckled and walked over to Bellamont. She put her slender hand on the young males shoulder and said loud enough for Lucien to hear.

"Lets mess his face up a little."

Bellamont nodded and stepped in front of the bound assassin. Lucien looked up, meeting the gaze of cold cruel eyes. He could see the bloodlust in them. And then the pliers connected with his cheek, so hard that he felt his cheekbone shatter. His head flew to the side, and a moment stars danced before his eyes, while he felt blood run down his neck from a cut that ran across his cheek to his mouth. Arquen's voice sounded muffled somewhere next to him.

"Mathieu. Try and not kill him instantly."

He was pushed back into his seat by a pair of strong hands. Slowly he raised his eyes to look into Mathieu's face, before spitting a load of blood into the Breton's face. Bellamont chuckled, licking the blood from his lips excitedly, as he beat the Imperial again and again until he lost consciousness.

* * *

Night had fallen and the Imperial City had gone quiet. Only few people were on the street this late at night and every now and then a lone Guard was patrolling the streets. Two lone figures were walking through the rows of gravestones in the Palace District.

"I don't understand."

Caman whispered, looking around with watchful eyes.

"Why would your informant want to meet with you here? On a sodding graveyard of all places."

Sorilkad glared over his shoulder, yet walked on without giving an answer. The Altmer frowned, having the feeling that Malur was not telling him the whole truth.

 _Is his informant a bloody thief or something?_

He wondered. The Dunmer stopped in front of a crypt and looked around. His red eyes had an eerie glow to them, as he finally turned back to the door and opened it with a spell. He ushered the warrior inside and quickly followed, before closing the door. As he turned, Caman blocked the way down, arms crossed over his chest.

"Here? You want to meet your informant in a grave? What do you need me for anyway? Afraid a corpse jump you?"

Sorilkad's brows furrowed together.

"I tell you when we find her. But get ready for a fight. You know what horrors lurk in crypts."

"And you can't cope with a shitty little wraith alone? Have you learned anything, mage?"

The warrior asked, yet unsheathed his impressing sword. Slowly they made their way down into the crypt and walked the rows of coffins. Against their fears there were no zombies, skeletons or even ghosts.

"Well at least the legion is doing something right..."

Caman mumbled, as he followed the Dunmer. Finally Sorilkad stopped in front of a coffin and ran his hand over the dusty name plate.

"Ah, there she is."

He said and turned to his friend.

"Help me with the lid."

For a moment the Altmer's had a dumbfounded look on his face, but then it darkened in anger.

"What in all Oblivion! You drag me into the Imperial City to dig out a grave?"

The warrior shouted.

"Have you lost your mind you S'wit? That place is crawling with guards. The fucking palace is just a stone's throw away from this stinking cryp! When they catch us in here, they'll hang us by the morning!"

The Dunmer rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Caman. How long do we know each other?"

The High Elf did not answer, but lowered his gaze. He had suspected, that Sorilkad was trying something illegal.

"If you don't want the guards down here, then you best shut up and help me with that coffin. I'll be quick, I promise!"

The warrior sighed and leaned his claymore against another coffin. He and the Dunmer went back a long way and he had learned to trust him. And he knew of his interest in necromancy, so he really shouldn't be that surprised.

They pushed the lid down of the coffin. The smell that emerged made the High Elf stepped back with disgust and cover his mouth and nose.

"By the nine. How do you deal with that smell?"

A small smile tucked at the Dunmer's lips.

"You'll get used to it."

He paused and looked down at the corpse. She was still in a rather good state, though signs of decomposition were visible. She looked bloated and discoloured, flesh started to slip from her fingers. He raised an eyebrow, as he saw the massive cut across her throat. Whoever did that to the woman did it with enough rage to drag the blade over the spine, leaving deep marks on the bone. Sorilkad Malur straightened and unlaced his Guar-leather robe. He folded it away on another coffin, now displaying a light dark blue robe. On his chest was the red skull with the crossed skeletal arms, the guild emblem of the necromancers.

"I trust you watch over my back, while I concentrate on my spell."

Caman nodded with a grim expression and picked up his claymore, before positioning himself.

Sorilkad closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, focusing his magicka. It charged the air around him, making his hair stand on end. He held his hands out over the corpse and began to mumble a spell. His hands began to glow in a greenish light that engulfed the body. Sorilkad's being expanded reached into the void. And then the corpse's eyes snapped open emitting the same green glow, as Sorilkad's. Slowly she said up and turned towards the necromancer.

 **"** **Yes master?"**

Henelie asked with an almost otherworldly sound to her voice. The Dunmer nodded.

"Do you know how you died?"

The corpse nodded, raising her bloated rotting hand to her neck.

 **"** **He slit my throat."**

"He? Do you know who did it?"

There was a moment of silence.

 **"** **A brother of mine. I met him outside the city. We talked."**

A disturbance threatened to pull her soul from his grip and for a moment Sorilkad struggled.

"What was his name?"

 **"** **Can't remember. Was part of Cheydinhal, but relocated."**

The Dunmer frowned.

"Located to where."

 **"** **To Leyawiin."**

Sorilkad blinked, as sweat ran into his eyes.

"You need to remember his name!"

The corps stared at him of a long moment, then she opened her mouth. Sorilkad strained to keep her with him.

 **"** **His name was Breton origin..."**

She started.

 **"** **It … was..."**

And then her soul slipped from his grip, the green glow faded away and she collapsed back into the coffin. Sorilkad closed his eyes in exhaustion and swayed, as his suddenly grew dizzy. And then strong hands steadied him.

"N'chow! You don't look so good."

Caman said concerned, as he caught his friend. It took the Dunmer a almost half an hour to regain his composure. His magicka was drained and his heart was beating like he had been running for hours. As he was finally able to stand on his own he turned towards his leather robe and got dressed.

"Caman. I need to seek out my friend. He needs this information."

A deep frown appeared on the Altmer's face.

 _A brother of mine._

He recalled the dead woman's words. Something felt wrong about the way she said that.

 _Relocated to Leyawiin._

A watched his Dunmeri friend with a concerned look.

 _Oh Soril, what have you gotten yourself into?_

Caman Verhane shook his head, as he made his decision.

"I'm coming with you."

The mage turned with a surprised look and opened his mouth, but Caman held his hand up to silence him.

"Don't try to talk me out of it. I think you will need my help."

A smile appeared on the Dark Elf's tired features.

"Thank you. Now lets hurry. The sooner we get to him, the better,"

* * *

He came to to a searing pain running down his back. He tried to jerk away, but his effort was only rewarded by more pain. Lucien looked up, his wrists were tied together and he was dangling from a hook in the ceiling. A movement in front of him caught his attention. He blinked, one eye almost completely swollen shut. Arquen stood in front of him smiling, while he felt Bellamont's presence behind him.

"Oh you are awake. I was really worried, we killed you already."

She closed thier distance and he could feel the fabric of her robe brush against his skin.

"You know. You are terrible at hiding. We could locate you so, so easily. All we had to do was ask around in the Roxey Inn. You should teach your horse some manners..."

She stopped and trailed a dagger lightly down his chest.

"Where have we been?"

She continued in a causal tone of voice.

"Oh. Right. Why did you betray us?"

Lucien shook his head, he had known her for more than 15 years. They had worked together hand in hand. Went on difficult contracts together. He just could not understand why she would not even let him talk out. She did not even give him a chance to defend himself. But he was never one to give up easily.

"Arquen, think about it! If I was the traitor, I wouldn't make it so obvious! I would cover up my traces, don't you think?"  
For a moment the Altmer just stared into Lucien's already beaten face. For a moment he hoped, that he finally talked some sense into his fellow assassin. But that moment passed, as she signalled Mathieu to continue the torture. The Breton smiled wickedly and drew his blade over Lucien's exposed back again and again, till it felt raw, like it was set on fire. Lucien gritted his teeth together and tried to breath through the pain, not giving them the satisfaction to scream. He waited till his pain had subsided a bit, before trying again.

"Arquen, please just lis..."

He was cut off, as she slapped a scroll across his bleeding face.

"Still trying to wind your way out like the worm you are."

Her voice was rich of malice, while she slowly unrolled the parchment.

"Let me read that to you."

She took a deep breath.

"Your target is a High Elf whore named Arquen. She has been difficult to locate, but you might try asking around the Grey Mare in Chorrol and the

Bridge Inn in Cheydinhal. Arquen is a skilled fighter and will not be eliminated easily."

She stopped and looked into Lucien's eyes.

"Sound familiar?"

He blinked, shaking his head.

"A contract?"

He asked. The Altmer lost it. She slapped him across the face. Hard.

"Don't dare play dumb!"

She screamed, shoving the parchment in his face.

"This is your handwriting!"

The Imperial looked at the parchment in surprise and disbelieve.

"It is my handwriting. But I did not write it!"

She stepped back, shaking her head in disbelieve. She had no words for this level of denial. If it weren't so obvious, she actually could have believed in his innocence.

"Mathieu hold him. I don't want him to flinch away, when I carve his heart out."

"Yes Speaker."

Lucien felt the Breton's breath hot on his ear, felt his body press against his own firmly, as he snaked one arm around the Imperial's stomach. Arquen turned away to pic out a sharp knife used to skin deer.

"You know, Cheydinhal will be mine, when your gone."

The Breton whispered in his ear, before liking it. Lucien shivered involuntary. And then he felt the hardness pressed between his butt cheeks. Bellamont groped at him.

"I wonder if sweet Antionetta is any good in bed."

Mathieu rubbed himself against his former Speaker. Lucien's eyes widened and he looked up. His hands were bloody, his fingers sticking in almost every direction. He wriggled his hands around in the ropes, trying to loose them. He had to get free. Had to fight back.

"No matter though. I will fuck her bloody."

Lucien's angry growl turned into a gasp, as Bellamont thrust his hip forward, pushing his erection hard against the Imperial.

"I'll kill you, Mathieu!"

Lucien hissed through clenched teeth, but the Breton only laughed.

"You are in no position to utter threats."

Lachance looked up, one hand had almost slipped out of the rope. At this moment Arquen returned to him and he found himself wedged between their bodies. She dragged her knife across his chest, cutting deep into the pectoral muscle. Lucien closed his eyes and tensed every aching muscle.

"Night Mother grand me strength."

He muttered and pulled, while simultaneously kicking his legs out in front. He hit Arquen's chest with his feet, pushing her away, while his hands came loose. He collapsed down, taking a surprised Bellamont with him. Despite his injuries, he managed to scrambled up and gave Mathieu a good kick to his groin, before pulling the sword out of the Breton's sheath. Bellamont curled into a tight ball crying out in pain. One down, but Lucien was sure that he would have a hard time fighting the Altmer, especially since he was barely able to get a grip on the sword's handle, his broken fingers refused to curl around the hilt properly. He had to try though, if he only could get out and to Shadowmere. She would take him away swiftly.

He turned, barely able to block the Altmer's blade. His whole body felt sore and with a swollen shut eye, he had trouble with the depth perception. He swung at her...and missed. Arquen evaded his blade easily, dance around him and swiped out her sharp knife. She hit her mark.

Lucien stopped looking down at his stomach. His sword clattered to the ground, as he desperately tried to keep his intestines from falling out. He stumbled backwards, his eyes wide in disbelieve. His hands started to shake as his back connected with the wooden wall and shock slowly set in. His guts felt so warm and slippery in his hands. His helpless gaze searched Arquen's face, but there was nothing there but satisfaction. His knees buckled and Lucien slid down the wall. He could feel his strength leaving him with every heartbeat. Arquen crouched down in front of him, and pulled his bowls out a bit more.

"Oh Lucien. You are a naughty boy."

She lifted his chin and was about to cut his throat, as a coughing and spitting Mathieu got to his feet

"Wait, Speaker."

She turned towards the Breton, who clutched his privates tightly in his hands. His face was bright red and a vein on his forehead was so prominent, Arquen thought it might pop.

"Don't make it so easy for him. Let him suffer."

The woman gave Lucien a last good glance over, before she stood. Lucien's head slumped forward, he was barely able to keep his eyes open, yet he fought to stay awake. Hoped somebody would come to his aid, against all odds.

"You are right."

Her voice came from far away.

"He's dead anyway. Now come, Speaker Bellamont. I'm hungry, lets spend the night at the Inn."

Lucien Lachance was vaguely aware that they left the room. Barely aware that he was alone. He looked at his bloodied mutilated hands, at his intestines he held in his lap. There was no hope left. Barely any fight left in him. Soon he would kneel at his Dread Father's side. He closed his eyes and waited.


	9. In front of a fireplace

It had started to rain in the middle of the night. It poured down still in the morning. The Bosmer pulled his vest, he wore over his green brocade doublet tighter around his slender frame as he looked out of his window. Bravil has always been a bleak, dank and poor town. Those thick rainy curtains made nothing to improve the city.

 _At least the smell is gone._

He thought, finally turning from the window and sitting down in front of his fire place. For a while he resumed staring at the dancing flames. He had tried to work this morning, had tried to get some contracts out, but he just could not concentrate. Something was going on, something very wrong and he could do nothing about it. He had asked and asked the Mother, but she was silent. How was he supposed to stop a traitor, when he did not even know where to start looking. He sighed deeply and took up his book " A Dance in Fire."

He was only able to read a couple of pages, as he was startled out of it by a harsh knock on his front door. The Bosmer slowly stood up, his brows furrowed together and went to a cabinet. He did not expect visitors. He did not get visitors. Never. And he did not like them at all. He took a sharp dagger out of the cabinet and as silently as possible he crept up to the front door. Another sharp knock. Whoever was outside was persistent. The mer spied out of a window, trying to get a look at his mysterious visitor, but was only able to make out a dark shape. He let out an angry growl and waited. Maybe that pest of a person outside would loose interest and go away. But the Bosmer was rewarded with just another knock. This time it had an angry and impatient quality. The person outside knew very well that he was at home. Well, every one in Bravil knew that he almost ever was home. Unfortunately.

He cursed under his breath and changed the grip on his dagger, hiding it behind his arm, before unlocking the door. He took a deep breath and ripped the door open ready to scold the early visitor. His green eyes widened in surprise, as he was met with a very angry looking and soaking wet Dunmer.

"Uvani? What..."

He started but was cut off by the taller mer irritated growl.

"We need to talk. NOW!"

Ungolim stepped aside, letting the Speaker in. Before he closed the door again, he took a careful look around the street. Fortunately in this kind of weather nobody would wander outside. Uvani walked straight up to the fireplace. As a Dunmer he was not very fond of cold wet weather, and having to walk all the way from Skingrad to Bravil in such conditions, did nothing to improve his mood. Uvani turned, when he heard movement behind him and was met by a towel thrown into his face. He dried his face off and rubbed his fiery hair down, only to have it stick out in every direction. His scowl turned even darker, yet he enjoyed the warmth of the fire creeping through his soaked clothes. The small, slender Bosmer had his arms crossed over his chest and watched the Dark Elf with a hard gaze, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently. Alval Uvani braced himself, as he finally said.

"My Listener. We have a problem."

A sour look appeared on Ungolim's face.

"You reckon? I believe we have a problem for a couple of weeks now!"

He let his arms fall down to his sides.

"More deaths?"

He finally asked his voice serious. Uvani turned towards the fire, his hands on the mantelpiece like he needed the sturdy wood as support. After staring into the flames for a while he said in a low voice.

"Shaleez and Boudicca."

Ungolim's gaze dropped to the floor, while he closed the distances between the other mer and stood beside his Speaker.

"These are dire news. They have been Silencers both. Skilled assassins both experienced and absolutely deadly."

He looked up into the Dunmer's face. In the firelight his red eyes had a warm glow, almost like the setting sun, yet they were cold and murderous.

"These are dire news indeed, if the traitor is now targeting the Black Hand itself."

The Dark Elf lowered his head, his gaze captivated by the dance of the flames and muttered. He still could not believe, what he was about to say, but the evidence could not be overlooked.

"It's Lachance."

Ungolim arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

Alval straightened his shoulders and turned towards the Wood Elf.

"The traitor, my Listener. Lachance is the traitor."

The Listener shook his head in disbelieve. Lachance was a Speaker for 15 years now. He never heard any complains, the Imperial worked quick and efficient, no matter how difficult the contract was. He ran his Sanctuary smoothly and successfully. And most of all he was a true child of Sithis. Or at least so he had thought.

"Are you sure?"

Alval nodded.

"Very sure, my Listener. My Silencer uncovered some disturbing evidences, that Lachance planned to wipe out the Black Hand in its entirety."

The Dunmer stopped, crouching down to his travelling back, he put beside the fireplace. As he stood again, he had produced a couple of scrolls.

"Here."

He said, handing them over to Ungolim.

"Take a look at these. Contracts, for every member of the Black Hand. Even you."

Ungolim's eyebrows wandered upwards his forehead by every scroll he skimmed through.

"A purification? He wanted to wipe every soul in his Sanctuary? He was always so fond of them. That's hard to believe."

Uvani nodded.

"Very hard to believe indeed. But it _is_ his handwriting. There is no denying it. Besides the method of killing is his trademark move."

The Bosmer clenched his hands into tight fists, crumbling the scrolls in them.

"What madness has claimed him?"

The taller mer shrugged in an helpless motion, resuming to stare into the fire.

"Don't ask me. The recent turn of events just came so suddenly. To all of us. I, myself, am shocked. I never would have thought, he would betray the Brotherhood. Surely the Dread Father is very displeased."

He paused and silence filled the room. For a long time both elves stared into the flames. Both brooding and unhappy. Finally the Dunmer took a deep breath.

"Lachance is being taken care off the very moment we talk. Speaker Arquen and my Silencer set out immediately, after we received these unsettling news."

Beside him the little man nodded, pulling on his lower lip in thought.

"You Silencer, Bellamont, right?"

Uvani nodded.

"He is a very ambitious man, don't you think?

Again the Speaker nodded.

"Yes. Maybe overly ambitious, but he always fulfilled the contracts I've given him to my utter satisfaction. And he was able to uncover the traitor on his own accord. There's a catch though."

The Listener looked up.

"And what would that be?"

"Bellamont wanted to be rewarded for his efforts. He wanted to be named Speaker and entrusted with the Cheydinhal Sanctuary."

Ungolim studied Alval's face. He was not sure, if the Dunmer was upset about this claim, or upset about loosing his Silencer. He sighed.

"That's a legit claim Uvani. He did good."

"I know."

Uvani nodded in agreement.

"Bellamont was located from Cheydinhal to Leyawiin. He is familiar with most of the members there. And he has shown that he is capable of working on his own. Taking on problems. I have no objections in making him Speaker of Cheydinhal."

Again Uvani nodded, his trademark scowl back on his face, which made it hard to tell what was going through the Dark Elf's mind.

"I trust that Vicente Valtieri is able to guide Bellamont for a while."

Ungolim continued.

"He's been in the Sanctuary for centuries, it's very well possible that man knows more than we both do."

Alval Uvani turned away from the fire.

"Yes my Listener. Thank you for your time."

Ungolim nodded, watching the Dunmer closely, as he picked up his bag and went for the door.

"Who are you going to name Silencer?"

Ungolim asked, before the elf reached it. Uvani stopped dead in his tracks.

"I have only one in my Sanctuary at the moment who holds the rank of Executioner. A Dunmer named Banus Alor."

"You don't sound too happy, Uvani."

The Speaker huffed.

"I am not. There is something wrong about this guy. He is not talking much and always smiling. I wonder if he is a bit retarded."

Ungolim stepped up to the door, putting his hand on the knob.

"But he is Executioner. Retarded or not, he can remove out targets from existence. Give him a chance."

With that he opened the door. Uvani took a deep breath before he stepped outside into the pouring rain. He heard the door being locked behind him and for a moment he thought about going to the Lonely Suitors Lodge.

 _No, it's to early. I best head to Leyawiin and resume my schedule as usual on Morndas._

He thought while heading out the main gate, ignoring the sympathetic look a guard gave him.

In his house, Ungolim had taken his seat in front of the fireplace again, watching the dancing flames. He was deeply troubled by what he had learned. He had always hoped, that Lachance would be his successor if he was killed.

 _Something does not sit well with me._

He thoughtful

 _Not well at all. What caused Lachance to turn on us? He always seemed deeply devoted to the Brotherhood._

He shook his head in thought. Lucien Lachance was gone. Arquen would see to it, that he was sure.

 _I need to talk to the Night Mother. Maybe she can grand me some inside._


	10. Friends and foes

A very unlikely pair of elves had left the Red Ring Road half an hour ago and now followed an overgrown little dirt road. The heavy rain muffled everything around them. There were no birds singing, no living being seen, even their horse's hooves barely made any sound on the softened wet ground. They rode in silence, hoods pulled deep into their faces. Soon Harm's Folly would come into view and though Sorilkad had uncovered a small hint at the traitor's identity, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt like he was coming too late.

 _Too late for what?_

He asked himself, when he finally he realized where his thoughts were drifting to. Nobody knew of this hidden cottage and nobody knew that his assassin friend was hiding out there.

 _He should be fine. I assume that an assassin knows how to hide properly. Then why do I feel like riding right into trouble?_

He slightly turned his head to catch a glimpse of the Altmer, who had been suspiciously quiet on their whole ride from the Imperial City to here. Caman's mouth was set in a grim line. Sorilkad could not tell, if he was upset by the weather or if he felt it too. Or maybe it was something completely else. Caman wasn't stupid, had he figured out, that Sorilkad did not tell him the whole truth? But by the look the Dark Elf could tell, that his friend was more than only a little upset. The mage would not want to be on the receiving end of the warrior's sword, especially when Caman was in a bad mood. He had quite the temper sometimes.

They continued on in silence until the farmstead came into view. Sorilkad's frown only deepened. It looked empty. There was no smoke coming out of the chimney, no light in the windows. It looked void of life.

"If we rode the whole way in this bloody weather and he's not home, I'll kill that bugger!"

Caman growled, slowing his steed down to a halt and got out of the saddle. Sorilkad patted his dapple grey gelding on the neck and took a look around. His gelding whinnied softly, ears perched forward. It was then, when the Dunmer spied the huge black mare with her flaming red eyes. She looked miserable, head hanging low and showing no sign of interest in the other horses. This did not bode well, especially since Lucien loved his horse very dearly.

"He has to be home. He would never leave his horse behind."

Sorilkad said in a hushed tone of voice looking around again, but his time more carefully. The rain hid everything from his eyes and ears. He turned to face Caman, who's expression was as grim as his own.

"Something's not right."

"Oh sod off Soril. Just delivering information, eh? Looks like you are neck deep into your friend's shite!"

"Oh shut it! I did not ask you to come along!"

The Dunmer growled back and walked up to the front door. It was locked, so he knocked. No answer, the feeling of impending doom growing. He knocked again.

"Lucien! Open up, it's me Sorilkad."

Again he waited a couple of heartbeats and again he received no answer. He turned towards the Altmer, who only shrugged as reply. Sorilkad bit his lips in anticipation as he opened the lock with a spell. As he was about to open it however, Caman's hand clamped tightly around his wrist, stopping him.

"Wait. Don't!"

The Dunmer searched his face.

"What's wrong?"

"Aside from helping a bloody Imperial... I don't like it. This place looks deserted. We could very well walk into a trap."

He pulled his long elven dagger from his hip, tightening his grip around it's handle so much, his knuckles cracked. With his other hand he reached for the doorknob.

"You stay back, I know how to defend myself!"

With a deep breath the Altmer warrior ripped the door open and stormed inside. And stopped.

"Oh bugger!"

he exclaimed, sheathing his dagger, while covering his nose as he was met by the rancid smell of blood and vomit. The Imperial sat against the wall, his posture slumped a massive cut across his chest, his intestines resting on his legs. Caman looked back over his shoulder to Sorilkad, who was still waiting outside.

"Your friend's a goner!"

He said turning towards the door, just as Sorilkad passed him by, mumbling curses under his breath. For once his usual scowl was gone, replaced by shock and worry. He crouched down and carefully pushed Lucien's shoulders back to get a better look at his face. With his other hand he gently raised his head towards him and bit his lip.

"Oh Lucien, look at the mess you've made..."

He whispered. Gone were the Imperial's even features, his face was covered with cuts and bruises, the right side swollen and purple. By the smell of him, he could tell that he sat here at least a couple of hours.

"Come on Sorilkad. Let's go home, can't do jack for him now."

Sorilkad just ignored the tall mer, a frown appearing on his face. The body still felt eerily warm. Shifting his weight a little, he summoned a small ball of light and held it above his palm, while he pushed Lucien's eyelid up with the thumb of his other hand. The pupil contracted.

The light died and Sorilkad jumped up in utter shock.

"By Mannimarco's pubic hair! Caman! He's still alive!"

The Altmer turned, squinting his eyes while regarding the body again.

"He is? B'vek! What kind of bloody amateur can't kill a man with broken hands?"

Sorilkad rushed over to a table and pushed it in front of the fireplace.

"You would be surprised."

The red-haired warrior shook his head and drew his dagger again. Slowly, he went down and pulled Lucien's head back on his hair, ready to cut his throat.

Just as he was about to draw the sharp blade across the skin, Sorilkad pulled his hand away with a surprisingly strong grip.

"What are you doing, you S'wit?"

he growled angrily at the tall elf. Caman's bright green eyes darkened in anger.

"What does it look like? I'm ending his suffering, that's all!"

The Dunmer's eyes widened.

"No!"

"No? You're dead up from the neck! Look at him!"

Sorilkad's gaze flickered towards the broken body of his friend and quietly said.

"I can save him..."

The warrior stood suddenly, pulling his friend up with him. Caman took hold of Sorilkad's shoulders and started shaking him.

"Bollocks, Soril! Look at him!"

The Dark Elf's gaze flickered, yet he resumed to stare at his friend stubbornly, making him furious.

"LOOK AT HIM!"

Caman shouted at the top of his lungs, turning Sorilkad's head forcefully to the side.

"He's sitting in his own blood and piss. His sodding guts are ripped out of his bloody body! He vomited all over them! He smells like he's gone to the dogs!"

Caman stopped, taking a deep breath to calm himself down, before he continued.

"Let me end his miserable life. There is nothing you can do."

The Dunmer freed himself from the other mer's grip and stared down at Lucien. Caman was right. A gut wound that severe was almost always deadly. If the blood loss would not kill him, infection would. Still, he was to stubborn to just walk away now.

"No, Caman. I can save him."

The High Elf stared at his friend for a long time, before he sighed deeply, shaking his head in resignation.

"Fine."

Sorilkad gave him a thankful nod, before shrugging out of his Leather robe. Carefully he picked Lucien up and carried him to the table, the warrior following him.

"Can I help you?"

Sorilkad looked up and a thankful smile graced his lips, but soon vanished to a grim expression.

"I need a hot water. I'll start the fire."

Caman nodded and hurried outside to the well, while Sorilkad blasted the pile of wood with a strong fire spell.

The water heated quickly, the Dunmer helped with that magically as well, before he finally turned towards the Imperial. Pulling his sleeves up he took a closer look at the wounds. It was a miracle that he was still alive, and the elf only guessed, that by a lucky stroke of fate no major arteries had been severed. He frowned. The intestines had already turned form a lively pink to a greyish white colour. Not a good sign and suddenly he wasn't so sure, if he really could help him. If he should help him. Caman picked up on the uncertainty of his friend.

"Soril? You ok?"

Red eyes briefly met green ones.

"I..."

Sorilkad trailed off.

"You're not sure what to do."

The High Elf concluded.

"I've never worked on a living person. You can't do much wrong with a corpse... Caman. I ...I...think you were right, we should end it here."

The tall warrior shook his head and stepped around the table putting his hand on Sorilkad's shoulder.

"Listen. I understand he is your friend and that you can't let him die just like this. If there is a chance, you can save him, then try what you can. I trust you can do this."

Sorilkad nodded, yet could not bring himself to look in the other mer's eyes.

"And I'll guard you and the property. The last thing I want is to have those amateurs coming back."

He paused and squeezed the Dunmer's shoulder assertively.

"Now get to work!"

The Dark Elf took a deep breath, before he started to clean the Imperial's stomach and bowels. He worked carefully, knowing that he had to reduce every risk for major infection. So he first rinsed out everything, then cleansed very intestinal loop again. Once he was satisfied, he put the intestines back into their native cavity.

 _So far so good. He is still alive._

He thought, before closing his eyes and focusing on his magicka. He pressed his hand firmly against the wound and let a healing spell flow in.

 _I hope the strain of the magic does not kill him now. He is very weak..._

He could feel the muscles twitch beneath his hands in involuntary spasms. He only not even imagine how painful the procedure must be, having a pair of hand pressed in you abdominal cavity and magic meshing together nearly every muscle and fibre. For once the Dunmer was thankful that his friend was not awake during this.

 _Or maybe he has a massive head injury as well..._

The Dunmer worked on his friend tirelessly until his magicka was completely drained. He had to lean heavily on the table, chest heaving, hands shaking his forehead covered in sweat and black dots dancing in front of his eyes. He needed rest so very badly. He had the feeling, that if he dared to move now, he would just drop to the floor like a sack potatoes. But looking down, he could not rest just yet. He still had not been able to address every wound. The fingers still needed to be repositioned, the back was still shredded and needed to be addressed and the mage still was not sure, if Lucien would survive that horrid wound on his stomach even though it had closed nicely. Only a red angry red line reminded of the cut across his lower abdomen. The chances, that infection was already spreading through his system were rather high. But at the moment, he just had no strength left.

 _Perhaps I could make some potions, until I have enough magicka again..._

He thought and turned towards the fireplace. And nearly collided with Caman, who had snug up behind him.

"Come. You've done enough for today."

The High Elf said, his voice calm and low, while pulling the Dunmer in direction of the bed.

"I'll keep vigil. You rest. I don't need you to end up in a bloody heap on the floor as well."

Sorilkad did not resist being led away to the bed. He had not enough strength left to struggle. And he felt so light headed that he clung to the tall mer for support.

* * *

Fredas turned to Morndas and life in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary has been unusually slow. Vicente Valtieri sat in the common area reading a book. Well, he was trying to read a book, but found it hard to concentrate on anything lately. His thoughts had the tendency to wander off to a certain Speaker. It was then, when a dark robed figure entered the Sanctuary. The vampire looked up and a deep frown appeared on his features, as he took the figure in. Black Hand Robe, obviously male but carried himself with an air of royalty, yet the stature did not match Lucien's. Vicente rose.

His face turned grim, as he got a sickening feeling to his stomach. The man stopped in front of the Vampire and took his hood off. With a smile, that never reached his eyes, he inclined his head.

"Vicente."

He said smoothly. The vampire's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"Mathieu. That's a … surprise. What can I do for you?"

A smirk appeared on the younger Breton's lips.

 _Ah Vicente. Straight to the point._

He thought, before he said.

"There is something we need to talk about. Please gather every one here."

The normally relaxed vampire tensed, his face a stoic mask, as he nodded and hurried away.

Ten minutes later the members of Cheydinhal had gathered around the Breton Speaker. Most of them looked curious, but Mathieu could see the suspicious gaze the vampire regarded him with. He did not care, he would deal with the vampire later. He had thought of a nice way to dispose of him, without even getting his hands dirty. His gaze shifted to the Argonian twins, both clearly worried. And then there was the young blonde Breton. He would have his fun with her. Images of her being bloodied and begging for him to stop appeared before his inner eyes and he had to take a deep breath to will them away. He could feel himself getting excited and this was not the right moment for it. Another deep breath and he put on a serious face.

"My brothers and sisters. You may have heard some disturbing news about a traitor killing our beloved family members."

He stopped a moment to let his words sink in. He watched the vampire out of the corners of his eyes, his face had turned even grimmer, if that was even possible.

"But fret no longer. The identity of the traitor has come to the attention of the Black Hand and was dealt with."

Again a pause for dramatic effect. It was then the vampire stepped forward.

"Where is our Speaker. I'm sure Speaker Lachance is more than capable of telling us these news all by his own."

All eyes turned to the vampire. There was an animosity in his voice, they were not used to. A slight frown was appearing on Bellamont's face. He did not like the vampire's attitude. He deserved to be treated better than this. He deserved to be treated like a kind, but he would teach that vampiric scum later a lesson in respect.

"Speaker Lachance is not here, Valtieri, because we found out that he was the traitor."

If it was possible for the vampire, he paled even more, taking a step forward with fists raised. He bared fangs he hissed:

"Lucien is no traitor!"

"Valtieri it is enough!"

Bellamont said in a cold very dangerous tone of voice.

"No it is not! Lucien has always been a loyal child of Sithis, ever since he came here. Where is our Speaker! I'd like to talk to him!"

A cruel smile tucked on the lips of the young Breton man.

"I am your Speaker now, Valtieri."

A murmur ran through the small crowed

"As I said. The Black Hand has dealt with the traitor. Lachance was questioned and then send to the Void."

With satisfaction he noted the shadow of shock cross Valtieri's eyes. The old Breton assassin knew very well what " questioned" meant. Mathieu ran his hand through his light-brown wavy hair.

"I was named Speaker and entrusted with this Sanctuary. I wish for us to all get along well. Like in the old days."

He looked from face to face until he stopped at Vicente's.

"But I'm afraid I have to make some changes. As my position is new to me, I wish to stay at the Sanctuary. I hope you do understand that my position does not allow me to sleep with you in the common quarters. Vicente, it saddens me to inform you, that I have to strip you of your private room. Please clear your personal belongings out within the hour."

The Sanctuary went completely silent. Only the Dark Guardian's creaking bones could be heard as he shuffled around in the background. There was an unearthly glow in the old vampire's eyes, his fists balled so tight, the knuckles went completely white. Finally he choked out.

"As you wish."

He was about to turn, when he heard Bellamont say behind him.

"As you wish, my Speaker."

Vicente froze, yet did not turn back. He had his eyes fixed to Ocheeva as he snarled with bared fangs.

"Yes my _Speaker_."

An hour later Bellamont sat in Vicente's room, doors locked and smiling to himself, while he was wiping his spilled seed from his hands. Finally, he had the privacy to think the recent events through. Thought about how he had broken Lucien's fingers. The memory of the delicious sound of breaking bones had excited him greatly. The humiliation the former speaker had to suffer at his hands. Oh how he had wished for Arquen to leave him alone with Lucien. He would have taken him, broken his spirit and pride alongside his body But at least he knew, that his death had not come easy, which excited him only more. Then his thoughts shifted to Antionetta. Still as sweet and petite as he remembered. The thoughts of how he would break her, would make her beg and scream had finally pushed him over the edge.

Spend and satisfied he looked around.

 _This place is dank. Not worthy of mine._

He thought. He ran his hand over the surface of Vicente's desk. Truth was, he did not need to stay in the Sanctuary. He did not need to stay in that little room, when he had Fort Farragut all to himself now. But he just wanted to see the vampire humiliated. It was time now to work out a special contract for Valtieri. One he would not come back from.


	11. Revelations

Sorilkad pushed Lucien's shoulder down on the bed. The Imperial was covered in sweat and tossed and turned in bed while groaning in pain. He had come down with a high fever right the next day after the elves had found his beaten body and the mage suspected, that Lucien might suffer from infection of the abdominal cavity. Sorilkad had tried to force feed him some cure disease potions, but Lucien, who was still unconscious could just not keep them down long enough for them to take effect. In the end the Dunmer had to reopen Lucien's abdomen to let fluid and puss drain off. But that also meant that he had to leave the abdomen open, and though covered with a clean cloth, every febrile seizure caused it to bleed again.

The Imperial's feverish fit slowly subsided and he lay quiet again, yet his face was distorted by pain. Sorilkad sat back in his chair and wiped his forehead wit the sleeve of his necromancer robe. Keeping the man down was hard work for the slender mage. For the umpteenth time Sorilkad asked himself, if he had made the right decision. He did not mean for his friend to suffer so much, but there was nothing he could do to help him. He had to fight through it on his own.

 _If only he would keep those damn potions down. He could be out and about by now._

He thought, while uncovering the wound. It looked as fine as such a horrific injury could, so Sorilkad got up with a sigh. He needed a tea.

 _Or maybe a good glass of Greef...no better a bottle._

He thought, pressing his knuckles into his lower back, making it crack. The Imperial had quietened down quite nicely, though his breathing was still laboured. Sorilkad made his way over to the kettle with boiling water and poured himself a cup adding some herbs. He was tired and wished for his comfortable bed back at the Arcane University whole heartedly. And a strong drink to knock him out for a couple of hours. This was turning into a personal nightmare. Being a necromancer did not allow for many friends, having one of them gutted and suffering, pained him to say the least. Not knowing if said friend would survive, did nothing to help him. And it started to take a toll on his body. He had not planned for such a long journey, he did not bring many alchemy supplies. There was no way for him at the moment to restore his magicka any faster. All he could do was rest, a luxury he did not have at the moment.

Sorilkad looked up and met the gaze of Caman Verhane, who leant against the mantelpiece, legs crossed and arms folded over his chest. The Dunmer paused, regarding his friend a moment. The taller mer was in a bad mood, judging by the sour look on his face. His mouth was set in a grim line, while his normally bright green eyes had darkened a shade with suppressed anger. Caman had kept himself busy roaming around the cottage and stables, while the mage was too occupied with nursing the Imperial back to life to notice. He had found out some interesting things, that only deepened his suspicion about the Imperial and his would- be murderers. He was both angry and disappointed, that Sorilkad did not tell him beforehand. Caman raised a hand to his left ear, and trailed the scarred edge. He straightened to his full, impressing hight and turned towards the Dunmer.

"I was feeding the horses. That black steed of his, that's not a normal horse. Nerevar would not even go near that mare, despite him being a bloody stallion."

Sorilkad nodded solemnly

"Yes. As far as I now, it came from the Void."

"From the Void."

Caman echoed with an arched eyebrow and started pacing in front of the fireplace. Wearily Sorilkad sat down, not quite liking where their conversation was going. Finally the red-haired elf turned, a fierce gleam in his eyes.

"Don't you think it's time to tell me the truth about that Imperial prick?"

He said, his voice hard. Sorilkad's red eyes drifted towards the bed and regarded the man there with a long look.

"I told you enough."

He said after a while his voice quiet. The High Elf snorted and walked over to a drawer.

"Enough? You think?"

Caman did not pause long enough to let the mage answer. He didn't need one anyway.

"The bloody fuck you did!"

His anger was finally showing through, his voice raised and his veins in the neck showing. He pulled something black out of the drawers and threw it at Sorilkad, who had walked up behind him.

"Look what I've found! Any explanation for this?"

The Dunmer held the black cloth up. He didn't need to look at it any ways he already knew what it was.

"A black robe."

He stated matter of factly.

"A black robe?!"

The High Elf closed their distance, his head lowered, shoulders squared. Anger seemed to radiate off of him and Sorilkad involuntarily backed up until his back was against the wall. Caman's hands slammed down either side of the smaller mer's head, thus effectively trapping him.

"You are helping a sodding assassin!"

He shouted right in Sorilkad's face, who turned his head to the side.

"And not only that! That fucking bastard over there is a member of the Black Hand! Have you no honour?"

Still Sorilkad was not able to look at his friend. Never before had he seen him this angry and he felt intimidated. He knew what the mer was capable of doing to others.

"If I had known this, I would have knocked you out and let that bleeding gilt die miserably!"

Caman's hands fell to his side as he straightened to his full height.

"I thought, I knew you. I thought, you were my friend. But to drag me into this mess... how dare you after all we've been through!"

Finally Sorilkad had recovered from his initial shock and was able to lock their gazes.

"I never asked of you to come here! I never asked of you to stay here!"

Caman turned away with a growl.

"And leave you to a bunch of assassins? Incompetent assassins?"

Sorilkad stared at his friend for a while.

"How long have you known?"

"Does it matter?"

Caman snapped but then sighed, before he continued with a much calmer voice.

"I had suspicions ever since we left the crypt. Two days ago I've found his robe."

He turned to face the mage again.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Sorilkad shook his head.

"Because I know how you feel about them."

"And yet you dare to drag me into this? What if they had caught up on your little plan first hand? Their guild has ways to learn of things, mysterious ways."

Caman paused again and looked towards the bed with a scowl, while running his hand over his cut ear again.

"This scum drove me out of Vvardenfell, after they were through disfiguring me!"

He growled darkly, thinking back to the day, he was caught by assassins in a dark alley in Balmora. They did not so much torture him, not like the Dark Brotherhood had tortured their Speaker. They hadn't come to kill him either, not on that day. They just held him down and cut his left ear of very slowly with a dull knife. The death threats came afterwards. In every town or camp he went, they had found him and attacked him. It was then, he almost lost his other ear as well. It had stopped, when he had crossed the border to Cyrodiil. He started anew in the Fighters Guild and tried to stay out of trouble.

Sorilkad raised an eyebrow.

"It's not like they jumped you on the street, because you were some snobby N'wah. You ..."

The Dunmer commented dryly, but was not able to finish his sentence. In a matter of seconds the fierce Altmer was back in the other mer's face, grabbing him by the collar of his dark blue robe.

He shook him so hard, Sorilkad's head bumped painfully against the wall.

"You defend them? You DARE to take their side? You Dunmeri asshole!"

He stopped shaking the smaller elf, before whirling around and storming towards the door. Before he reached it, he could hear Sorilkad say.

"I told you time and time again, to stay away from the Morag Tong, Verhane. But you wouldn't listen. Besides I don't hear you complain, when you tell the story of how you lost to ear to your doe eyes women."

The look Sorilkad received was poisonous. The High Elf ripped the door open and spat.

"You know what Malur! Fuck you!"

The door banged shut and left the Dunmer mage alone and slightly dazed in the gloomy silence. He sighed, pulling his chair up to the fire and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. It did not take long for exhaustion to take its toll and he fell into an unquiet sleep.

* * *

"Lucien..."

He opened his eyes, as he heard his name called but saw nothing. He touched his face to make sure that his eyes weren't covered. They weren't. Around him was absolutely nothing, only darkness. He shivered. He could feel the fast emptiness around him and his heart rate sped up.

"Lucien."

Closer this time. He whirled around and suddenly got aware on a faint orange glow in the distance.

"Lucien, come to me."

He swallowed nervously, but followed the voice towards the light. The nearer he got, the clearer he could see the outlines of a door. He frowned deeply, wondering what this place was. There was no echo, no sound at all, just this heavy depressing silence that could drive one mad. He reached for the knob and carefully opened the door. He had to blink a couple of times, the warm light of candles making his eyes water after that absolute darkness he had been in. Carefully he stepped into the room and looked around surprised. This place reminded him so much of his Sanctuary in Cheydinhal. He stopped and frowned. His Sanctuary...was it still his? He wasn't so sure any more.

"Come to me Lucien."

He was called again. In front of a fine tapestry with the black hand print stood a gorgeous young Dunmer woman. He bowed his head and looked to the floor, while he walked up to her. Dread had filled him, the moment he had heard her voice in the void. It seemed like an eternity until he had finally reached her.

"Oh Lucien, don't be scared. There is no pain in the void."

He could hear the smile in her voice, yet could not bring himself to look up. But she was true, he felt no pain, felt almost weightless. Faintly he remembered the agony he had to endure, before he woke up here. A slender hand cupped his cheek, her thumb running softly over his lips.

"Look at me, my child."

Almost shyly he raised his eyes to meet her red ones. She had even features, full black wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders and shone in the firelight like polished onyx. Her eyes were soft and full of love.

"Mother."

He whispered. A smile graced her full lips.

"Is it my time to kneel at our Dread Father's feet?"

She put her other hand to his face as well, running her fingers gently down his temples. Unconsciously he leaned into her touch, while she still regarded him with a smile.

"Not yet, my dear child."

She picked up a stray strand of hair, that hung loosely into his face and gently placed it behind his ear.

"Sit with me, my child."

She pulled him over to a plain wooden bench and sat down with an unearthly grace. He joined her, turning towards the young woman, while she still held his hand. Her fingers danced lightly over the back of his hand, as she continued.

"Listen well, my child. I have foreseen that treachery would befall our family. I have foreseen your torture and death at the hands of your brothers and sisters. As well as the deaths of so many more. But your actions, my dear child were the seed of a new fate."

She paused, ghosting her fingertips over his cheek, while regarding him with a long look.

"My actions? But how?"

"You have set this all in motion many years ago, Lucien. Only a little mistake on your side. And now you will end what you have started so long ago."

Again a little pause to let these words sink in.

"In my visions the Black Hand has ordered the ancient ritual of the Purification. You however choose to fight the traitor."

Lucien turned his gaze away from her.

"Fight? I hid away like a coward. And was so foolish to let them find me. And … "

She raised a slender delicately curved eyebrow.

"And Lucien? I have watched you, my dear child. The little things you did, set greater deeds in motion. You've warned your brother about a purification, you made your necromancer friend look into the matter. And you fought the Black Hand in your darkest hour without ever loosing the faith in your Dread Father and me. As a matter of fact, you are fighting still my dear Lucien."

She paused and a pained shadow crossed her face. It was there a only second and then it was gone.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"You'll live. You'll make us proud."

His gaze wandered to his hands, brows furrowed together. He could feel her hand comb through his long hair.

"What troubles you my child?"

She whispered softly into his ear.

"But I don't know who the traitor is. How..."

Softly she placed a finger over his lips.

"But you do Lucien. All you need to do is remember."

The Night Mother suddenly stood, holding her hand out to the Imperial.

"Come now my child."

She let him to a bed on another side of the room like a lost little boy. Before he lay down however, he asked.

"Why did you not warn the Listener?"

She shook her head.

"It is not your place to question my actions, little Lucien."

Lucien understood and lay down, while she sat on the side of the bed. With a smile she bend down and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead.

"Sleep now my child. I'm not meaning to keep you."

He closed his eyes and a was taken away into a blissful deep sleep.

* * *

Sorilkad's eyes snapped open, as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped to his feet. Fire engulfed his raised fists as he took a defensive stand, ready to blast any attacker into Oblivion. But the elf quickly relaxed, when he realized that he wasn't attacked by a stranger, but stared into hard green and very familiar eyes. The High Elf shook his head, leaning heavily on his claymore.

"Feck! Soril! I could have killed you!"

Caman scolded, leaning the great sword against a chair. Sorilkad's rubbed his hands over his tired features before he threw his long black hair back and out of his face.

"But you haven't..."

He started, but was distracted by the sunlight that shone through the window. His eyes widened.

"How long have I slept?"

The sun was already high up. His face turned pale and he whirled around to rush towards the bed.

"Lucien..."

The same heavy hand that had woken him up, now clamped around his upper arm and pulled him back.

"Sorilkad, calm down already! He's fine."

With a confused look the Dunmer's red eyes searched his friend's face. Caman smiled, pointing to the bed over his shoulder.

"He's sleeping rather soundly."

He paused a moment, cocking his head to the side.

"As did you. You didn't even hear me coming back, just right before midnight."

The High Elf put both his hands on the smaller mer's shoulders, squinting his eyes a little. His friend looked pale, almost grey and had big circles under his eyes.

"This mess does take a major toll on your body, eh mate?

Sorilkad nodded.

"It drains my Magicka constantly, leaving me tired and weak. But ..."

"But he is your friend. I understand."

The Altmer took a bit breath, for what he had to say next did not come easy to him.

"Soril. I'm sorry. I should have trusted you and your judgement."

"No Caman. You were right. I should have told you."

The High Elf nodded grimly in acknowledgement and stepped to the side, letting Sorilkad's red eyes fall on a big bundle on the floor. The Dunmer's curiosity was peaked.

"What's this?"

A mischievous smile appeared on the warrior's face.

"Take a peek. It's for your friend."

The Dark Elf opened the bundle and looked inside, before blinking in surprise.

"Caman! What did you do? Where did you get that?"

Last evening I was so furious, I actually wanted to return to Chorrol and have Oreyn give me some contract to blow of steam."

The warrior paused, his face turning serious.

"Stumbled across this poor sod near the Red Ring Road. Got his bloody head bashed in by a Minotaur. Should have used his helmet."

Sorilkad nodded while listening.

"Fucking Minotaur tried to attack me as well. Cutting that damn bull into pieces was just the outlet I needed. Made me think though."

Again there was a little pause, as the tall elf walked across the room and looked down at Lucien.

"It'll fit that Imperial bugger just well, I think. They're about the same stature."

Again the Dunmer nodded.

"But why?"

Caman raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't that obvious? We need to move, we are not safe here. And I want us gone before these bloody amateurs decide to come back. He cannot run around in a robe that literally screams Dark Brotherhood."

Sorilkad's eyes wandered to the robe and then to the Imperial. He hadn't thought of this, but his friend was right. Lucien's more casual clothed had been shredded and they could not let him run around naked.

"And here's the best part."

Caman continued with a big smile.

"It comes complete with papers and a new name for him."

The Altmer held up a neatly folded parchment, which was almost ripped out of his hand by the other mer. Sorilkad skimmed through the text.

"No way!"

The Dark Elf exclaimed.

"And Cheydinhal even! That's such a big coincidence."

The grin on Caman's face widened.

"Looks like Sithis has still plans for that bugger."

The Altmer clapped his hands together.

"And now, Soril my friend. Let's have something to eat. I'm starving!"

Sorilkad rolled his eyes, but happily followed his friend over to the fireplace.


	12. The Contract

Vicente Valtieri sat in the corner of the common area of Cheydinhal sanctuary, a book in his hands. The gaze of his pale red eyes however was blank as he gazed into the void. A shadow had fallen over this sanctuary. The old vampire could feel it in his bones, that there was something amiss. He sighed, finally closing the book, he was not able to read and put it away. He had warned Lucien to be careful and hide away. Vicente did not want to think about what they had done to his friend, but he could very well imagine it. He hoped, that his death had come easy for the Imperial. Hoped, he was now resting at their Dread Father's feet with pride. Sithis would know, that his child had been loyal until the end.

He shook his head with yet another heavy sigh and watched the Dark Guardian shuffle around. Ever since their new Speaker arrived, the very air had turned cold and depressing and even the undead guardian seemed to feel it. The skeleton walked around with his sword half raised, head swinging from side to side, as if its empty eyesockets were searching for something. Vicente rubbed his fingers over his eyes. He needed to get out of here, do something.

 _I should try to look into this matter._

He thought.

 _It cannot be that Lucien's name is sullied by this horrible accusation._ Slowly he stood up and started pacing. He had watched Bellamont carefully the last few days. He was doing good with the women in the Sanctuary. Especially Antionetta seemed to be impressed by his subtle attempts of wooing her. And to his utter disappointment, Bellamont lies started to corrupt their hearts and they already started to question Lachance's motives.

 _Night Mother guide us..._

He sent a silent prayer to their unholy matron. If he wasn't bound by the tenets he would like to break Bellamont's scrawny little neck.

The noise of a shutting door caught his attention and he looked up. Ocheeva walked out the training room and gave Vicente a friendly smile. He returned it with a graceful nod. The Argonian stopped in her tracks before she turned towards the Executioner.

"Vicente. What's wrong. I haven't seen you this worried in a long time."

He shook his head, not knowing how to put his thoughts into words. Finally he said with a half shrug.

"I am worried, Ocheeva. And to be honest, in my twohundered years in this Sanctuary I never have been this afraid of our safety."

And incredulous look crossed her eyes and she led him into her room. After locking the door, she turned towards the vampire.

"Vicente, please. If our Sanctuary is in danger, then you need to share your thoughts with me."

His gaze flickered and dropped to the floor. With a deep breath he said.

"It's Bellamont. I don't trust him."

Ocheeva crossed her arms over her chest and regarded the old assassin with a long stern look. Finally she sighed, saying.

"You should give him a chance."

His face darkened.

"A chance? Why should I? He's prancing around here like he owns this place."

"He does own this place, Vicente. He is our Speaker now."

The vampire threw his hands into the air and hissed.

"Lachance is our speaker. He has always been loyal to his family!"

He could hear her move behind him, and moments later a cool hand touched his shoulder.

"Vicente, you have to accept that Lucien is dead. There is no coming back from that."

She paused and looked to the ground.

"You know he has been like a father to my brother and me. I grief for him. But he has betrayed us, Vicente, that I cannot forgive."

Vicente whirled around, his eyes wide with anger.

"WHAT? You actually believe what Bellamont told us? He is trying to rip our family apart!"

The Argonian shook her head.

"Vicente, calm down. I looked into it. Boudicca's grave is exactly where Mathieu said it was. And the method of killing was his handwriting, you know that as well as I do."

She paused, fixing her eyes to Vicente's.

"This is evidence that simply cannot be ignored. You know that as much as do I."

The Breton looked to the ground. There was nothing he could say against that. He couldn't tell her, that he had met Lucien bend over the corpse. It would only raise more suspicion and maybe even endanger him. But still he felt that something was greatly wrong about Bellamont.

"Vicente."

Ocheeva's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"I know that you never have been fond of Mathieu. And the move he pulled on you was low. But he is our Speaker now. You should let go of your anger."

Vicente walked up to the Argonian until their noses almost touched. With a very low and dangerously calm voice he said.

"I'm not angry, Ocheeva. I'm absolutely furious."

With that he walked over to the door and unlocked it. Before he opened it however he turned towards her again, and with the same voice he said.

"Mark my words, Ocheeva. If Bellamont stays here, we are all doomed. It's just a matter of time until our members here start dying."

With that he walked out, followed by the still stunned Argonian. As he entered the common area he was met by Bellamont. The young Breton regarded him with a cold look.

"Ah Valtieri, here you are. I would like to have a talk with you. Please join me in my office."

He did not wait for the vampire to acknowledge him and thus he missed the portentous look Vicente shot Ocheeva.

Minutes later the vampire was faced with his new Speaker, who sat at his desk, a stack of scrolls in front of him. He motioned to the vampire to sit down, but the Vicente just ignored him. The smile on Bellamont's face diminished a little.

"Please, sit down."

He said, his voice cool but not unfriendly. Valtieri walked up to the desk.

"I prefer to stand."

Bellamont leant back with a smile, the vampire was not able to read.

"Very well then."

He said, pressing his fingertips together in front if his face.

"I have summoned you here, Valtieri, because I have a contract to you."

The vampire looked up with a hard gaze in his eyes.

"A contract?"

He asked.

"Where, in Anvil that I burn to death on my way there?"

The smile on Bellamont's face widened.

"You are aware, that I am your Speaker?"

The young Breton stood up and rounded the table, closing down their distance until they nearly touched each other. Bellamont looked down at the smaller older male.

"Talking like this could be regarded as treachery. You don't want me to get the impression, that you are involved with the betrayal of your beloved Lachance, do you?"

Vicente had to bit back a remark, he already had on the tip of his tongue, but the stare he gave him was murderous. Bellamont patted his cheek and turned back to the desk.

"But don't worry, I'll make sure, you learn some lessons in respect. But now back to the contract. It is actually one here in Cheydinhal. Your target is a Dunmer farmer by the name of Llevana Nedaren. Apparently she had dealings with the Orum gang."

Vicente raised an eyebrow. He knew, that this gang of local Skooma dealers had rented a room in her basement. Maybe she had stuck her nose to deep into their business.

"It should be no problem for an experienced member such as yourself to sneak into her house and kill a harmless farmer."

Bellamont continued holding out a scroll to the vampire. Suspiciously Vicente took the scroll and skimmed through it. The contract seemed legit, yet it felt like something was wrong with it. Maybe the way, Bellamont had praised his skill, too sarcastic for the vampire's liking. He folded it up and nodded, before turning to leave. He just had to be careful. Behind him, Mathieu Bellamont's gaze turned deadly and an evil grin tugged the corners of his mouth up. As soon as the vampire was out of earshot he said, his voice dripping of venom.

"Good riddance to you, Valtieri!

* * *

"We need to fucking move!"

Caman insisted leaning against the door, watching his Dunmeri friend, who took care of Lucien's wounds. The Dark Elf sighed.

"We can't as long as his wound is open."

Caman through his hands up in the air in an frustrated guesture.

"Than close that bloody thing! You did it before!"

"Yes, and look what happened. He got an infection."

Caman was about to bark back a snarky reply, but was cut short by a loud groan coming from the Imperial. His face contorted in pain, twisting his head from side to side. Sorilkad's blood red eyes narrowed at the man, while he soaked a cloth in cold water. With a drawn out breath, he sat down beside his friend and put the folded, dripping cloth on Lucien's forehead, while keeping him still at the same time. Lucien struggled more, and Sorilkad leaned his whole bodyweight on the Imperial's upper body.

"Another fit?"

The Dunmer heard Caman ask from behind, who had grabbed Lucien's legs to keep him down and stop him from hurting himself further.

"I don't know. This seems... different."

Sorilkad answered, frown deepening.

Lucien slowly arose from the blissful unawareness his unconsciousness had kept him in. Memories came flooding back. Before his inner eye he saw Arquen with her cold, hungry eyes and murderous smile, heard her lustful tone, as she ordered Bellamont to break Lucien's fingers. And like his memories came back, so did his pain. Panic filled him, that his torture still wasn't over. He tried to struggle free, but couldn't move, his hands and feet were restrained. He felt like he could not breathe, a heavy weight pressed down on his chest. He pressed his eyes shut as tightly as possible and bit his lips so hard, it started to bleed. He knew, he needed to calm down. Knew, he needed to think clearly. He tried to breathe in deeply, but winched as hot searing pain shot through his whole torso. He couldn't help but groan out in agony.

Another image came back to his mind. He saw himself staring up at Arquen, who laughed at him, while he had his own entrails in his hands. He groaned, forcing his breath to calm down. It was then he noticed, that he wasn't alone. He got aware of the two sets of hands, clamping around his upper arms and legs. And someone spoke to him constantly in a deep soft voice. Though he could not understand the words, he understood the intentions. He was spoken to like a father would speak to a sick child and he indeed calmed down. He listened to the melodic foreign language and slowly his sore muscles relaxed and his pain subsided a little. The hands on his legs disappeared, as did the pressure on his chest.

"Lucien, binthi kol lo! Ohn ayuli!"

The words sank in and slowly he opened his eyes. He had to blink a couple of times. The room he lay in was only dimly lit by a couple of candles, yet the orange glow was so bright, it made his eyes water. He looked around. A shadow towered over him, glowing red dots were the eyes should be. Lucien swallowed and willed his vision to clear up. The shadow slowly took shape as his hazy mind added more and more details. He recognized long ravenblack hair, that was shaved off on one side of the head. Long pointy ears and a greyish blue skin, with red tattoos on one side. And blood red eyes, that looked down at him with concern and relieve.

Lucien opened his mouth, but now words would come out. His throat felt raw and he had the taste of blood in his mouth.

"Iru. Ouaji isk! "

The Dunmer said still in his native language and held a glass against the Imperial's dry lips. The healing potion tasted terrible but Lucien swallowed obediently. He could feel the potion take effect, as it slightly burned its way down. Again he tried to speak and this time, with great effort, he was able too.

"So...Soril,"

He managed, his voice hoarse and alien to his ears.

"Why...you here?"

A deep frown appeared on Sorilkad's even features, as his eyes scanned Lucien's face.

"I'm here to safe your sorry little ass."

He paused a moment, before adding.

"S'wit!"

A smile tugged on Lucien's lips, while his eyes began to drift shut. Moments later he was fast asleep again. Carefully Sorilkad touched his forehead and for the first time, since he had found his friend he dared to hope that every thing would be fine. The fever had finally gone down. He turned towards Caman and got a cup shoved into his hand. The Altmer pointed towards the chair in front of the fire place.

"You! Rest! I'll wake you when he wakes up!"

* * *

It was already late night when Vicente Valtieri left the Sanctuary through the secret doorway. Pushing the grit up, he carefully peeked over the rim of the old well. Everything was quiet, which was no surprise. Cheydinhal had always been a nice little town. Silently he walked through the streets, and though he was alone he preferred to stay hidden in the shadows. He hadn't fed in a while now, Bellamont had not giving him a chance to go out. He would need to feed on his target. He sighed.

 _Oh Lucien you fool! How could you get yourself captured. I taught you better!_

He thought, not for the first time. His level of frustration rose every time his thoughts would return to his former Speaker. He had lost so many good Speakers over the years now, it was depressing.

And ever since Bellamont had appeared in their sanctuary, he felt that something was amiss. It was like Bellamont brought along a darkness, that threatened to corrupt his brothers and sisters. He could not explain it, and apparently could not talk to anybody about it, but he felt like they were all in danger. He shook his head.

 _Lucien told me to keep the Sanctuary safe. How am I supposed to keep them safe, when nobody listens to me? Sithis help us, this will not end well._

He took a deep breath, he had arrived at Nedaren's house. Another careful look around. No one in sight. He crouched down and tried the handle. He raised an eyebrow, as he found it the door unlocked. Even if Cheydinhal was a quiet town, nobody would leave their front door unlocked. Silently he drew his blade and opened the door, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. His instincts told him, that something was not quite right, yet a contract was a contract. With his senses on high alert he snuck into the living room as the door behind him suddenly fell shut. He whirled around, abandoning his crouched stance. He growled darkly and gripped his sword so tightly, his knuckles cracked. Yet he had no hope in coming out of this mess alive, but he would not go down without a fight.


	13. Scheduled for execution

The young assassin stabled his horse at the Horse Whisperer Stables. His fierce black mare stood out amongst the white horses up like a sore thumb, but his mare needed rest and food. It was still early noon, he had plenty of time to investigate his targets whereabouts and plan ahead for every possibility. He was wearing a dark green shirt and laced pants, so he would not raise any suspicions amongst the citizens.

After looking around for a while, he booked a room at a harbour-side tavern, before he found himself a nice quiet spot near the lighthouse. He sat on a big rock, letting his feet dangle into the foaming sea below him. For a while he just enjoyed the salty wind playing with his hair, the sun on his face and the smell of the sea below. Ever since he joined the Dark Brotherhood half a year ago, he was pretty much confined to Cheydinhal and it was nice to get out of the windy town at the foot of the Valus Mountains. For a while he was content with watching the flight of the seagulls and the ships at sea, before he finally pulled out his contract. His target was a Breton woman by the name of Bella Montée. He took a deep breath and packed his parchment away and slowly got up.

Turns out, she was very easy to find. Rumours of her were all over the town, and the young Dark Brotherhood murderer quickly learned, that she was in a nasty divorce. If only she knew how nasty the divorce would get for her. He grinned and scouted out her house, a small one storey building right next and a little behind the Mages Guild. Satisfied he smiled and made his way back to The Flowing Bowl, where he ordered himself something to eat. By nightfall he finally changed into his shrouded armour and snuck out of the tavern through a window on the backside of the building. Quietly as a ghost he crept up to Montèe's house and entered it through a window on the first floor. He found himself in a small room. By the furniture he judged it to be a child's room. Silently he made his way downstairs...

...and didn't find her. He cursed under his breath. Seems like he had to wait for her to come home. Quickly he left the house, the same way he had come in and pulled himself up on the roof. There, cloaked in an invisibility spell, he watched the street, his excitement rising with every minute that ticked by. A little past midnight she finally came home. Swaying slightly as she unlocked the door, she made her way inside. Young Lucien on the roof smiled, while he let go of his spell. With her being this drunk, it would be rather easy to remove her from existence. On nimble feet he climbed down from the roof and through the open window beneath. A moment he stood in the dark room and listened. Slow unsteady footsteps climbed up the stairs. He drew his dagger and pressed himself flat against the wall behind the door. Moments later the footsteps stopped and the door was pushed open. She never saw him coming, as his hand clamped down in her hair, pulling her head back, while he drew his dagger over her throat with such ferocity, that the sharp blade went right through flesh, vertebrae and tendons. Bella Montèe's body collapsed on the floor with a low thud, while the young murderer still held her head in his hand. Still smiling he let it fall on the floor carelessly and stepped over to the empty bed, cleaning his dagger on the sheet. Young Lucien Lachance left the house through the front door, without ever noticing the five year old boy lying underneath the bed, frozen to the spot by terror.

* * *

Lucien stirred in his sleep, before he woke with a start. He sat up and immediately regretted that motion, as pain shot through his abdomen. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and pressed him down on the mattress. Lucien looked up right into fierce green eyes. He tensed and opened his mouth, but the Altmer pressing him down hissed.

"Shut it, Imperial or I shove something down your gob!"

A deep frown appeared on Lucien's face and he hissed back.

"Where is Sorilkad?"

He demanded to know. The Altmer straightened up and pointed over to the fireplace. Lucien followed that motion with his eyes. Sorilkad was passed out on a chair, feet propped up on another one.

"Let him sleep. He's been fussing over you, ever since we found you."

The Altmer said, his voice low. Lucien understood and relaxed, taking a closer look at the High Elf. He looked like a pretty tough guy, face littered with scars and messed up ears, lean but muscular stature. If he would have to guess, then this guy was whether an adventurer or from the Fighters Guild.

"So you are a friend of Sorilkad's?"

Lucien whispered, his voice still hoarse. The elf nodded.

"Damn right I am."

The mer's green eyes narrowed dangerously, while he regarded Lucien with a cold gaze.

"And by Hircine, if you hurt him, I'll hunt you little assassin scum down and strangle you with your fucking guts."

Lucien's stared back at the tall mer with his own gaze darkening in anger.

"That wont be necessary, Caman."

Both men turned to the sound of a gravelly tired voice behind them. The High Elf rose and stepped close to the smaller mer.

"I hope so for your own sake, Soril."

Sorilkad nodded.

"Don't worry, he can be trusted."

The Altmer huffed and walked over to the fireplace, watching the Dunmer, who had already turned his attention towards the bed. Sorilkad settled at Lucien's bedside. For a long moment the Dark Elf observed Lucien silently.

"How are you feeling."

Sorilkad finally asked with his normal scowl and gruff demeanour, but couldn't hide the worry in his eyes.

"Awful."

Lucien answered truthfully, then added with a wry smile.

"Like a necromancer turned me inside out."

The scowl on Sorilkad's face deepened.

"Actually I was trying to bind your soul to a scroll. Would be funny to summon you at will, as a Spectral Assassin so to say."

Lucien blinked and stared at the Dunmer, not sure if he had made a joke or not.

"Ass."

Sorilkad chuckled.

"You're welcome, S'wit."

The Elf let his red eyes wander over the Imperials body once more.

"You have some pretty messed up friends, you know that Lucien?"

A sour look appeared on the assassin's face, as he remembered the torture he was put through and he raised a hand to his face. His fingers looked pretty normal again, so he tried to move them. They were still a little stiff and sorey, but so felt his whole body.

"How long have I been out?"

Sorilkad shrugged.

"A little more than a week."

Lucien's eyebrows shot up and struggled to sit up, but was pressed down firmly.

"What? Over a week? I need to go..."

"You need to stay down!"

Sorilkad growled darkly.

"But..."

The look the Dark Elf gave him, was enough to shut the hardy assassin up. Sorilkad drew the blanket back.

"You are still not healed. Something I tend to change now."

His gaze met with Lucien's.

"Brace yourself, this is not going to be pleasant."

The Dunmer warned his friend, while he removed the bandage from the wound. A green glowing ball appeared in his left hand. Again their eyes met and Sorilkad's held an almost apologetic look. Lucien took a deep breath and tried to relax, but in a matter of seconds his face contorted with pain and he pressed his eyes shut, as Sorilkad pressed his hand down.

* * *

The loud cracking of a whip echoed through the hallways of Cheydinhal Castle Dungeon. It noise was followed by an unearthly growl. Count Andel Indarys stood proud and tall in front of his naked prisoner. Again the whip cracked like thunder.

"You can end this."

The count said with a calculating calm voice.

"Just tell me about the Dark Brotherhood."

The count only earned an angry snarl with bared fangs and a murderous glare.

Indarys sighed, shaking his head, while the whip cracked again and again, always followed by pained hisses and angered growls.

"I know, you are an assassin."

"I'm a vampire!"

Vicente snarled back with bared fangs.

"I was hung...argh!"

He was cut off by the cracking of the whip and the sharp pain that followed the sound.

"Don't play that game. I know you exactly what you are."

Indarys paused, walking up to the chained up and badly beaten vampire. For a moment they stared each other.

"I received a tip, that poor Nedaren was … how do you call it... scheduled for execution."

Vicente's pale red eyes widened ever so slightly. He had felt that something was wrong about the contract he received. Now he knew. He was right all along, Bellamont was going to pick them off one by one.

"I had a deal with one of your spokesman. Never kill inside the walls of my city. You broke the contract. So now tell me. I want the names of all the members here in my city."

Vicente closed his eyes and for a brief moment he was tempted to give Bellamont's name away. But he dismissed the thought quickly. He had been loyal to the Brotherhood for two hundred years, he would die loyal. His eyes snapped open, Indarys was still only a couple of inches away. Too far from him to bite, but not far enough. The mixture of blood and saliva hit Count Indarys right in his face. The Dunmer glared at the vampire before he turned away.

"Take our... guest...to his cell."

He said to the Imperial guards, who had hauled Vicente from the house to the dungeon. The count opened the door and was about to leave, but stopped as a thought came to his mind.

"But make sure to give him the sunny cell."

Vicente tried to struggle, as they hauled him away into the cell. He tried to break free or at least inflict some damage on them. But the Imperial guards in their heavy iron armour overpowered him easily. Moments later he found himself alone. He drew a shaky breath in, not so much because he needed the air, it was more the need to calm himself down. If he went feral it would not help him in any way. He looked around. The cell was small and dank, with one single barred window high up in the wall. There was already a square of light on the floor and the wall. Wearily he looked towards the window. The sun would wander away from his direction, meaning the light would come to him. Uneasy he shifted, pulling on the chains. Too sturdy to break free and too short to move far.

Vicente Valtieri closed his eyes in defeat. He had been outsmarted, went into the trap Bellamont send him in blindly. He should have listened to his feeling that something wasn't right and now he was running out of options. Well he had three options left. Burn to death in the sun, starve or being killed. Vicente leant his raw burning back against the rough wall behind him and sighed deeply as a strong sense of desperation washed over him. He had failed on so many levels. He had failed Lucien, had failed to keep his brothers and sisters safe. And he felt incredibly stupid. The old vampire wanted to sit down, but his chains were too short for that too. A dark growl escaped his lips. If he would ever get out of here, he would exact his revenge in the bloodiest way possible.

But as the day progressed and the square of bright sunshine came closer and closer, he let go of this thought as well and by the late afternoon he was clinging desperately to the sturdy chains, his toes barely touching the ground, while he twisted his body away from the light. It took him a while until he noticed that he was watched by the count. Vicente's gaze snapped up as he heard the heavy iron door creak open. Indarys stepped into the cell and stopped right in the light, regarding the struggling vampire with an aloof arrogant gaze.

"I see you enjoy your stay."

He finally said, his voice rich with sarcasm. Vicente only glared at the Dunmer but chose to remain silent. A slight frown appeared on Indarys face.

"I am not an evil man, vampire."

His tone was a calm coolness, that caught Vicente's attention.

"I don't want you see tortured and struggling. I could end your suffering. Just tell me what I want to know and I will show mercy on you."

Vicente's gaze never wavered as he listened to the Dark Elf. Silence hung between them like a heavy cloak for along moment.

"Never."

The Breton finally snarled with bared fangs. Count Indarys raised his eyebrows and in that same calm collected voice he said.

"Very well."

He left, without even a single glance back, leaving the naked beaten vampire to his struggling.

* * *

Night fell and the orange glow of a fire lit the windows of Harm's Folly. Three man had gathered around the fireplace, each holding a steaming pot of stew. They all ate in silence, each dwelt on their own dark thoughts. And even though it was quite a simple and light meal, Lucien enjoyed it a lot, especially since he hadn't eaten in quite a while. He shouldn't be alive in the first place to enjoy anything. His gaze fixed to the fire, he chewed on a piece of rabbit meat.

 _I'll kill that Altmer bitch..._

He thought darkly, still images flashed before his eyes. Images of his horrific injury. Never had he felt so helpless before. And still he hurt where his muscles had been cut, even though the Dunmeri mage had finally closed the wound.

"What are you going to do now?"

Sorilkad's deep voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts. Lucien shrugged, shoving the spoon back into the stew.

"I really don't know. I can't go back to Cheydinhal. Not at the moment."

The tall warrior beside him nodded grimly.

"But we cannot stay here. I can't stretch it enough. We need to fucking move!"

Sorilkad shook his head in deep thought. He knew that as well, but where should they go. To the Mages Guild? He highly doubted it, that any Guild would let a civilian crash in their hall.

"If the Black Hand finds out I'm still alive, they will be in hot pursuit in no time."

Lucien said, still watching the flames dance.

"And there is still that traitor in our ranks. I have to find him, before he kills us all."

He ran his index finger over the light pink scar that trailed from his left collarbone all the way down his sternum, where Arquen had wanted to cut his heart out.

"Sadly I don't even know where to start looking for the traitor."

He ended, putting his bowl away and settling back on the chair. The Imperial looked up in time to see the mer share a meaningful glance. Lucien frowned, fixing Sorilkad with a stern look.

"Why exactly are you here?"

He asked the Dunmer. Caman huffed and drew in a deep breath, opening his mouth for an witty reply, but was stopped by Sorilkad.

"Your visit at the Arcane University and your story had me intrigued so much, I decided to look into the death's."

Lucien's eyebrows went up and suddenly he remembered the dream he had of the Night Mother.

 _You made your necromancer friend look into the matter._

He could hear her soft voice in his mind again. His interest was sparked and he leaned forward, elbows heavy in his thighs.

"And what did you find out? And how?"

"Well,"

Sorilkad started, turning his gaze towards the flames, while searching for the right words. The oranges light gave his red eyes an eerie glow.

"You have told me about this female assassin."

Lucien nodded.

"Heniele, yes."

"I...I went to her and asked her."

The Imperial's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"You did what?"

"He raised her from the dead. Fucking creep show, let me tell ya."

Caman interjected. Lucien looked from mer to mer in absolute disbelieve.

"You resurrected her?"

"Right in that sodding Imperial City. That Dunmer has some serious balls to pull that move under the guards noses."

The High Elf grinned widely at his dark skinned friend. Sorilkad sighed, his gaze meeting Lucien's.

"I couldn't keep her soul long in her body, but she told me at least some things, you might find interesting."

The Dunmer stood up and took their bowls away before returning with three goblets and a bottle of Tamika's West Weald wine, he had found in the cabin. He filled their glasses before he settled down. All the while Lucien was watching silently.

"Now, Sorilkad, what did you find out. Did she give you a name?"

"No. Sadly not. Her answers had been cryptic. She told me that she met a brother outside the city and that they talked before he slit her throat."

The Dunmer paused taking a sip from his wineglass, trying to recall the events. He raised the gaze of his blood-red eyes to Lucien's brown ones.

"But she told me, her murderer has once been a member of your Sanctuary, but was relocated to Leyawiin."

Again he paused a moment.

"Does that ring a bell?"

Sorilkad asked. Lucien's eyes widened, as he finally pieced all the clues together. It all made sense now. The Night Mother's words, his dream, everything. Beside him the tall Altmer chuckled.

"He, judging from that dumbfounded look, it does ring a bell."

A curious gleam lighted his green eyes, as he regarded the assassin.

"Tell me Imperial. Who is your traitor, I'd love to slice that bloody amateur open."

Lucien did not react, to deeply in his thoughts. Only when Sorilkad touched his shoulder he looked up.

"Lucien, share your thoughts with us."

The Dunmer said in his calm dark voice. Lucien ran his fingers through his long dark hair, twisting the ends around his fingers.

"It's Bellamont."

Lucien finally stated, his voice dripping venom. He emptied his wine and stood up.

"I need to go to Cheydinhal! He's now in charge of my sanctuary."

The Imperial declared, reaching for his dark robe, but was stopped by Sorilkad.

"And do what? Serve yourself on a silver platter? Do you have any evidence against him?"

Lucien froze, glaring at his friend.

"This is something personal, Sorilkad. I've brought him into the Brotherhood, I'll end his stay. Permanently."

The Dark Elf shrugged.

"Maybe. But just think for a moment. It's your word against his and all the evidence point to you. What do you think will happen. Who will they believe more?"

Sorilkad paused.

"Do you really think they will take the word of a Necromancer as evidence? Especially one, who has no further connection to the Dark Brotherhood, than being the _traitor's_ friend?"

Sorilkad grabbed the Imperial by the arm and led him back to the fire. With a determined tone of voice he said.

"Not sit down, and tell us what you know about him. And maybe we'll figure something out."

Grudgingly the assassin obliged. His friend was right. He had nothing.

"Why did you get that bloody sod into your Brotherhood in the first place?"

Caman, who was silently watching the whole time asked. Lucien inhaled deeply.

"Nearly fifteen years ago, I was sent to recruit a boy, who had caught the attention of the Night Mother. He had killed his father in cold blood. I was met by a young Breton boy no older than fifteen years of age. What struck me as odd, was that cold calculating look he gave me. Like he was always planning and plotting. Always watching me, when we met. I embraced him into my Sanctuary like a brother regardless."

Caman raised an eyebrow.

"You have any clue, why he holds a grudge against you?"

Lucien's gaze turned absent as thought back to the dream he had.

"Maybe."

He started, ruffling his hair thoughtfully.

"One of my first contracts was to murder a Breton woman. I hadn't had much information about her, only a name. But rumours in town had it that she was in a nasty divorce and were fighting over their child. I killed her of course, cut off her head with one blow."

Again he stopped, asking himself how he could have been so stupid. So blind.

"And what was her name?"

Sorilkad asked.

"Bella Montèe,"

the Imperial sight.

"Hm,"

Caman grunted.

"That Breton bugger is a fucking genius. Taking on his mother's name."

The Altmer filled his glass again, casually saying:

"Kill a boy's mother and vengeance festers in the son. Where did she live?"

Lucien regarded the Altmer with a long cold look. That mer's attitude was slowly getting to him.

"Anvil."

He finally answered. Caman nodded, emptying his cup, before he stood and got his cape.

"What are you doing?"

Sorilkad asked.

"I'll go to Anvil. I bet, he has a secret hideout there."

The High Elf stopped, fetching a bundle and put it at Lucien's feet.

"You two relocate in the morning. There is a little cabin along the Blue Road. The guy it belonged to died unfortunately. You can stay there safely."

Sorilkad nodded.

"You have to go right now?"

"Of course. Anvil is quite a ride. Don't worry, Soril, I'll be fine."

The elf turned towards the Imperial and handed him a piece of paper.

"Mark my words Imperial! Sorilkad's been through much thank to you! If you mess this shit up, I'll kill you, resurrect and kill you again! Understood?"

Lucien nodded grimly, thinking of some painful way to get that attitude out of that mouthy mer.

"Good!"

Caman continued.

"And remember. Lucien Lachance is dead. This is your new identity."

The assassin raised an eyebrow and unfolded the piece of paper. It was transfer request for an Imperial Legion Soldier to Cheydinhal.

"Hope you like heavy armour, Marsus Tullius."

The Imperials gaze turned suspicious as he bend down to the bundle and opened it.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

He exclaimed. Both mer chuckled light heartedly before they exchanged a warrior's hug.

"Stay safe Malur."

Caman said, while pulling his cloak around his shoulders and strapping the claymore to his back.

"You watch him, Tullius."

Lucien nodded, still with a sour look on his face. Before the Altmer disappeared into the night, Lucien held him back.

"If you need information, look for a young Dunmer thief in Anvil. Dark skin, white hair, purple eyes, goes by the name of Shadow. He works for me."

Caman nodded and left Harm's Folly.


	14. Progress

The sun shone brightly over Cheydinhal on this cold autumn morning. And while there was no cloud in the sky, a cold wind blew down from the snow-crested mountains. Despite the cold, a young Breton man lay in the grass just outside the city walls. Not too far away to get attacked by wildlife but far enough not to be seen by the archers on the city walls.  
His pale blue eyes stared at the sky without really seeing it. No. His sight was turned inside. He was quite pleased with his scheme turning out so nicely. Vicente Valtieri was locked away for good and he was sure that the vampire would never get out of the prison. Not alive. He still had to tell his family the sad news.  
His hand wandered down and disappeared into his pants. He already was aroused by the thought of the torture Vicente would face at the hands of Indarys. He knew the count wasn't too fond of having a sanctuary in his city, despite him having turned to the Brotherhood in the past. He gently stroked himself, turning his thoughts away from the vampire and towards more pleasurable things. He was now in a position, he could go against the other members of the Black Hand as well. He would kill them all, including the Listener and then they would perform an ancient ritual and summon the Night Mother. This would be his hour to shine.

 _Who shall be the first to go. Arquen or Alval? I hate that two mer._

He thought while biting his lower lip in pleasure.

 _I think the first one to go is Alval. Arquen may serve me still._

He stroked harder.

 _And serve me she will._

Arquen had a way to tease men with her female attributes. He had seen it first hand when they had tortured Lachance. She would not tease him. Oh no. He would make sure, that she screamed for him. Screamed his name and begged him, while he would force himself upon her again and again. He would punish her in every way possible. He would fuck her up that pretty tight ass of hers. A pleasured moan escaped his lips, while he tightened his hand around his shaft enough, that it would hurt him. His other hand massaged and pinched his balls. His back arched up as he neared his climax and he turned to the side, spilling his seed into the grass while giving a small pained cry through clenched teeth. Panting he rolled away from the sullied ground and on his stomach. He liked the feeling of the cool grass against his still hot member. For a while he just lay there, his mind blank and watched the ants crawl about in the grass. The chill of Frost Fall began to creep through his this linen clothes, but he didn't care.

"Are you finished?"

Mathieu did not look up, but sighed, crushing an ant beneath his finger.

"Yes, mother."

Slowly the young Breton rolled on his back and laced his pants up.

"You have to get working. They will not kill themselves while you fool around in the dirt!"

Mathieu sat up and brushed his short wavy hair back.

"It's all right, mother. It's almost over. I'm close, so very close."

Mother nodded in approval.

"You have made good progress, my sweet little son. After all those years!"

"How long have we struggled? How long have we waited?"

He asked his mother, but she didn't need to reply.

"Too long, I know."

Bellamont answered himself. There was a moment of silence.

"It's been long since you have visited me."

His mother said.

"Will you come home? I miss you, Mathieu. Our home is so empty without you."

Mathieu looked to the ground with sad eyes.

"I can't, not at the moment. First I have to kill them all. But it's almost over. I promise."

His mother smiled sadly.

"I know my sweet little Mathieu. And now go. They are waiting for you in the Sanctuary."

Mathieu got up slowly and straightened his common clothes out, making his way back to the city. He passed the guards, passed the inns, no one spared him a second glance. No one even started to suspect, that a member of the feared Dark Brotherhood just had passed them by. Finally, he reached the abandoned house and with a careful look around he snuck in, climbing the stairs up to the upper level. There he stripped out of his brown linen shirt and into the Black Hand Robe. Pulling his hood up, he straightened his posture and with a regal air around him, he made his way down into the Sanctuary.  
He found the members of this Sanctuary sitting together at the dinner table. A steaming pot was placed in the middle of the table, though nobody seemed to be happy about the food and the plates were still empty. A smirk tucked at the corners of his mouth, as he realised that sweet Antionetta had been cooking again. He quickly hid his smirk behind a stern mask, while he neared the table. Antionetta looked up, a smile lighting her features.

"Speaker Bellamont. You're back. Would you like to eat with us?"

The Speaker inclined his head slightly.

"Dear Sister, as much as I would love to sit with you, I have more pressing matters to attend too."

He paused, positioning himself at the head of the table. With his cold blue gaze, he looked from face to face, until he rested his eyes on Ocheeva.

"You may have noticed, that Vicente has not returned from his contract."

Again a pause for dramatic reasons. He had their rapt attention, worried faces all turned towards him.

"It has come to the attention of the Black Hand, that Valtieri had been captured by the City Watch."

"By the Legion?"

Ocheeva exclaimed in both shock and surprise. It was hard to imagine, that her old wise brother would let himself get captured so easily. Vicente was strong, smart and the most experienced assassin she knew of.

"By Sithis! When? Maybe we could ..."

"He's dead by now!"

Bellamont cut the Argonian off with an icy tone.

"He got himself captured. And he failed to kill his target. I will not waste any talent or resources on such a failure. Have I made myself clear?"

He pierced his gaze into Ocheeva's eyes. She looked down at her hands and silence hung heavily over the dining table.

"The Legion has a way to deal with vampires. Luckily, I myself was able to finish the job and send the target's soul to the Void."

Bellamont finished. He straightened himself and with his emotionless, steely blue eyes he looked around. None of his brothers and sisters even dared to look into his eyes. He smirked.

"Now, if you please excuse me, I have work to do."

He turned towards the door, but before he walked out, he stopped again, looking back over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Antionetta."

The young Breton turned towards him, her eyes already glassy from hardly suppressed tears. Tears, he would make sure would soon flow.

"You brothers may not have the balls to tell you this, but before anyone gets poisoned, please do us all the favour and stop cooking. Not only does it smell rancid, but it is utterly inedible. You better should concentrate on what you are good at. Gossip for example."

With that, the Speaker left without another glance back. He didn't need to look back though, he could already hear her stifled sobs. Moments later a door slammed, as Antionetta fled to the living quarters and flung herself on the bed, hugging her pillow tightly. Telaendril soon followed her sister to comfort her. Slowly, with clenched fists Gogron stood up, looking down at Ocheeva.

"I need to hurt something, Sister. Don't expect me back too soon."

The giant Orc rumbled and stormed off, leaving the Argonian twins, a pissed Khajiit and an unhappy Dunmer behind. Ghost sighed heavily.

"I don't like that guy."

He said in a low voice, earning a fierce nod from the Khajiit, who normally would do all to oppose the Dunmer. Ocheeva shook her head.

"Don't let him hear that, Ghost. He is our Speaker after all. He could see that as insubordination."  
She paused a moment, as Ghost stood up. There was a sinking feeling in her guts and not for the first time since her argument with Vicente, she asked herself if the vampire had been right. Had she been jumping to conclusions hastily? Lucien had never been this harsh to them. Not that he could, but one had to give him a good reason to get nasty.

"I'll keep it in mind."  
Ghost said to his superior, pulling her out of her thoughts and added with a saddened expression.

"Still it feels like this family is falling apart."

Ocheeva looked at the young mer with sympathy. She knew, how much this family meant to him. He had been so happy when they accepted him into their sanctuary like a long lost brother and now everything had changed so much. But she could not give him any comfort since she felt the same. She only nodded and watched him leave. She could only imagine, that he would overkill their practise dummy, to vent his frustration. Beside the Argonian M'raaj-Dar flattened his ears to his head and bared his long sharp fangs in a sneer.

"That hairless ape is right, you know? That Speaker does not care for our family."

His tongue flicked out and over his nose.

"And he smells foul."

"Oh, M'raaj-Dar."

Ocheeva said in a scolding tone of voice but received only a toothy grin.

"Maybe M'raaj-Dar should make a potion to make him smell better."

He said before he stood up and left as well, leaving only Teinaava behind. His gaze fixed Ocheeva.

"Is there something you are not telling me, Sister?"

He said after a long moment of silence. Her gaze dropped down to her hands once more.

"Before Vicente left he said something to me."

She paused, trying to recall the conversation she had with the vampire shortly before he left.

"He was worried for our safety. He felt like Bellamont was ripping our family apart."

Her brother nodded.

"As does Ghost. And M'raarj-Dar apparently. Ocheeva, we live through a hard time. First Lucien's betrayal and now Vicente's death. It's hard for all of us to adjust to our situation."

His twin sister sighed heavily.

"I know. I basically said the same to Vicente not so long ago... and I always trusted the Black Hand and the decisions they made."

"But?"

Her brother asked, leaning forward, to allow his sister to lower her voice even more.

"But...I'm not so sure anymore. Vicente... he gave me a warning before he left for that contract. He told me, that if Bellamont stays, our members will start dying. Well, I knew he wasn't very fond of Bellamont to start with, but now... oh Teinaava, I just don't know what to think."

Again she paused, her gaze fixed to her brother's.

"He was fiercely loyal to Lucien, defending him to the end. And I'm beginning to think the same. Do you think there could be some truth in Vicente's words?"

Teinaava took a deep breath in and opened his mouth.

"You should choose your next words with extreme care."

The Argonian twins jumped up and turned towards the door. There Mathieu stood with his arms crossed over his chest. The black robe and hood made him look even more menacing than he already was. He straightened and took some slowly measured steps towards them, his blue eyes shining with a cold gleam.

"I am beginning to think, you two are planning a mutiny."

Their eyes widened in horror.

"Oh no, my Speaker."

Ocheeva said.

"We were just discussing..."

"I know what you were discussing, I've heard everything. Don't take me for a fool."

Mathieu closed the distance to the Sanctuary's overseer, who started to back up against the wall.

"Please, leave her, we didn't mean you any disrespect."

Teinaava tried to defend his sister but received only a shove to the chest, that let him stumble a few steps back.

"You shut up!"

Bellamont hissed and grabbed Ocheeva's chin.

"And you! I will let slip that by for now. But make no mistake Ocheeva. If I hear you speak that way ever again, I will exile you and your brother from here. Permanently."

Bellamont's voice was little more than a venomous hiss. A shiver ran through Ocheeva's body. She could imagine what her Speaker meant by permanently.  
A cruel smile appeared on Mathieu's face, as he pressed his body against the Argonian. He could feel her terror.

"Are you afraid of me?"

He asked in a gleeful tone. Ocheeva did not answer.

"You should better be. I am not like Lucien. Heed my warning."

He looked over to her brother.

"Both of you. I have no problem in turning you two into a suitcase if I feel you are disloyal!"

He stopped again, taking a deep breath in, trying to smell their fear.

"And now out of my sight!"

He growled, letting go of Ocheeva. The Argonians swiftly made for the door, but Bellamont held them back with an afterthought.

"Oh, Teinaava. It saddens me to inform you, but you are demoted to the rank of Eliminator. You should get some contracts done to rise again."

Ocheeva turned, while her brother just stared at their Speaker speechless.

"You can't do this! He did nothing wrong!"

Bellamont's gaze darkened.

"You dare to talk back to your Speaker? You want me to demote him further? To Slayer maybe?"

She shook her head.

"Then shut up and get out of my sight."

They left immediately, thus not being able to see the cruel smile lighting up Bellamont's features. Getting to this Sanctuary was even better than he imagined, he enjoyed himself way too much. He poured himself a glass of wine.

 _Those two just gave me a reason to write a Purification request._

Still smiling he went into his room and sat down at his desk. First, he needed to write a letter to Arquen however. He just needed her assistance.

 _And she will be of assistance, but just not like she thinks it will._

* * *

Two riders just passed the ruins of Fort Urasek and turned onto the Blue Road. They rode in silence for a long while, ever since they hit the Red Ring Road. The direct way from Harm's Folly to Roland Jenseric's cabin would have saved them a couple of hours, but they opted against a ride through the wilderness. Too dangerous, especially in their weakened state. Sorilkad Malur's glance wandered sideways to the Imperial. The set of armour suited him, but he could see his friend was struggling. He looked pale and sweaty, his breath laboured.

"It isn't far anymore."  
The Dunmer broke their silence, trying to reassure his friend, but only earned a glare from the other man.

"You should be glad, that we did not cross path with another Legion Soldier. He'd demote you on the spot to administrative work. I'm sure you would do great behind a desk."

Lucien's gaze beneath his Legion helmet darkened.

"Are you done mocking me?

Sorilkad's lips stretched into a thin smile.

"No. Not yet. You really look like you enjoy ..."

"Shut up, Soril!"

Lucien growled darkly, grasping the reins tighter than he intended to. As a response, Shadowmere threw her head back and nearly bucked the Imperial off her back. While Lucien clung to her neck, he could hear the deep raspy chuckle of his friend behind him.

"I can see why you are wearing robes all the time! Damn it, Cyrodiil, an adventurer you are not."

Said Imperial turned towards the Dark Elf.

"I want to see you in heavy armour!"

He snapped, earning a smile from his friend.

"Believe it or not. When I lived in Sadrith Mora I was not only trained in magic but in melee combat as well, including armour and short sword."

Sorilkad paused, squinting his eyes a little.

"Just hold up a little longer, it isn't far anymore."

"You said that already."

Came the retort through clenched teeth. The Dunmer cocked his head to the side. He could see that Lucien did not only struggle under the unused weight of the armour. He looked like he was close to passing out. And pretty much in need of a healing session as soon as possible. Malur knew they were close. Only a bit up the road and then into a dirt road.

"You think you could manage a short gallop?"

A groan was enough to answer the Dunmer's question and he shook his head. He should have granted Lucien a little more time to recover. This did not bode well.  
Half an hour later they arrived at the little cabin. Sorilkad jumped from his horses back with the elegance that was native to his race and hurried over to his Imperial friend who slumped down from his horses back. Luckily the Dunmer was fast enough to catch him before he could land ungracefully on the floor. Lucien leant heavily on the slender mer, clutching his stomach in pain. Sorilkad led him inside and helped him sit down on a chair. Lucien took his helmet off, his messy sweaty hair clinging to his forehead. A deep frown formed on Sorilkad's face, touching his hand to the Imperial's forehead. His skin felt cold and clammy. He shook his head, mumbling under his breath and began to loosen the fastenings of the heavy armour. Lucien closed his eyes, he was too exhausted to resist his friend.

"I'll need to check your wound. You should lay down."

"Can't I just rest a little?"

Lucien asked, but the Dunmer shook his head no.

"I need to be sure, you don't look good."

Lucien sighed.

"I don't feel good."

Sorilkad helped his friend to his feet once more and led him over to the bed. Lucien closed his eyes in anticipation, as the Dunmer's hand lit up with the green glow of a spell. His friend wasn't a healer, he was a Necromancer by trait and he was trained in Vvardenfell. Sorilkad's magic was more primal than his own native Cyrodilian spells. He had to grip the sheets, as Sorilkad's spell burned its way through his stomach and along the recently healed wounds. It was like they were all opened a new and lit on fire. He groaned in pain and tried to get up, but Sorilkad held him down with his free hand. For a slender mage, he was surprisingly strong. But he had not to struggle long and to his relieve Lucien soon black out. A smile appeared on his face and he drew his hand back, letting go of his magic. His friend was fine, sore still and exhausted but no sign of infection in his body. The Dark Elf stood up and walked outside to stable the horses before he got some water. He was sure the Imperial would be hungry when he woke up. And while Lucien still had to recover from his major blood loss he also had some training to do, if he wanted to pose as a convincing Legion Soldier.


	15. Evidence

It was early noon, as a big brown horse slowly trotted over a hilltop. The sun played with the horse's light coloured mane and tale, almost blending it with the flax, which grew along the Gold Road. Caman held his breath a moment, letting his gaze wander over the view that unfolded in front of him. The landscape opened up, revealing rolling hills, golden coloured grass, wild wheat and flax gently swaying in the light breeze that carried the smell of salt and sea. In the distance, the ocean sparkled like a carpet of diamonds and beyond that, the mountains of Valenwood rose like an ominous shadow. Caman raised his nose into the wind and inhaled deeply. He really hoped that Modryn would assign him back here again soon. Back to this gem of a city, that was so unlike his hometown back in Morrowind. Maybe that was the reason he liked it there so much. He sighed deeply, asking himself for the umpteenth time, how he could have let himself get involved in the affairs of assassins, especially since he had vowed to keep away from them. Caman's gaze grew distant, while his thoughts returned once more to his home in Vvardenfell.  
He had always been the odd child, the Outlander child. True, an Altmer child to a Dunmer woman could only be described as odd. And even though his mother was dirt poor and worked as a prostitute in Suran to support her little family, he had only fond memories of his childhood. It was then and there that he had met a shy, introverted but very rich Dunmer boy, only two years his senior. A boy who had become his best friend. And still was. A smile stretched his lips, while he remembered all the adventures he had with Sorilkad as a child. How often they had played the game of bandit and legionnaire, went exploring the nearby caves and tombs and got themselves into trouble. Maybe it was because of those times they had together, that he had allowed himself to be dragged into this mess. And who knew, maybe there was still a good adventure ahead of him.  
Caman shook his head slightly to get out of the daze of his memories, while the city gate came closer.

 _Assassins..._

He thought with a regretful sigh. His mother had warned him time and time again, that he would end up as a criminal. He always had a tendency for violent behaviour and his mother had been right in the end. He landed himself more than once in prison. After he was forced to leave Vvardenfell he had tried to get better, tried to earn his money with honest work. This had made his mother very proud, and she was proud of him until her dying breath. But now it seems that his past had finally caught up with him. He sighed again. Trouble always seemed to find him in some way or another.

 _Oh well..._

he thought,

 _If I can cut some of these Brotherhood thugs apart then be my guest._

With his mouth set in a grim line, he picked up the reins and let his brown steed canter. He thundered down the road and jumped off Nerevar's back right in front of the Horse Whisperer Stables and handed the reins over to the stable hand.  
The Imperial on guard duty rolled his eyes, as the Altmer sauntered past him and called out:

"Hey, Verhane! Do us all a favour, don't start a bar fight!"

The elf chuckled.

"Ah now come on. I thought you had fun last time."

The sour look he got from the guard made him laugh even louder.

 _That lazy bastard can count himself lucky, that I don't intend to stay long. Can't leave Sorilkad alone with that Cyrodiil S'wit too long, now can I?_

He thought before he raised his right hand over his heart and said in a mocking tone of voice:

"I'll be good I promise."

He still chuckled while he stopped in the middle of the town plaza. Rubbing his hands together he looked around.

"Now, where might that little fetcher be."

He mumbled. At this time of day, the place was surprisingly void of life. For a moment the Altmer was tempted to crash in the guild hall but decided otherwise. He wasn't here for official business and staying at the guild might raise some questions. Especially since he hadn't told Modryn where he was going. Right now, he wanted to find Lucien's little thief friend and he would not find him standing right in the town centre. So he slowly made his way down to the harbour and entered the Flowing Bowl.  
The doors fell shut behind the tall elf with the fiery hair and for a moment every conversation in the room died down, all eyes set on the warrior. Verhane let his green eyes wander around, letting them linger on every face for a second before finally meeting the gaze of a broad-shouldered Nord. A smirk appeared on Caman's face. Immediately the big Nord jumped up with such force that his chair slid backwards and fell.

"Verhane! Showing your ugly face here, was the last mistake you've made!"

The pirate spat, puffing his chest out and walked around the table towards the still smirking High Elf. On his way, he snatched up a mead bottle and smashed the end off on another table.

"And don't think you can hide behind that big sword of yours."

The Nord hissed with menace. Caman only chuckled calmly.

"I don't need my sword for you, Rigmor. Vermin is meant to be crushed beneath the boot."

Rigmor's eyes flared in anger and he attacked like a bull, head lowered and broken bottle raised. Caman waited patiently for the right moment, and with a swift move, he sidestepped his attacker, sending him crashing into the wall with a good shove to the back. The bottle shattered into a million pieces at the impact, while the huge Nord shook himself, before turning back to the still smirking elf. Caman had unstrapped his great sword and leant it against a table, taking a secure stand and raising his fists. His light green eyes glinted coldly as he waited for the other man to attack. They clashed with a dull thud and the Nord's hand closed around the collar of Verhane's leather armour, yet the elf managed to grip one of Rigmor's wrists and use the arm as a lever. He turned the wrist on the extended arm and with a quick kick to the gut he send the Nord to the floor. Rigmor rolled away from the mer, who for the first time actively attacked. He ducked under Caman's fist, grabbed his arm on wrist and elbow and with a pull he send the mer flying to the ground. Caman quickly got up on his knees, but the massive Nord already was over him, pulling him up and grabbed him into a tight headlock. That was enough for Caman, and he finally let his anger guide him. He grabbed the Nord by one arm and quickly bend down, throwing the bigger, heavier male over his shoulder. Again Rigmor rolled off and got to his feet, but hesitated a moment. Something in the mer's gaze had changed. The eyes had darkened and pure uncontrolled rage was barely hidden behind them. And then Caman attacked, breaking through the Nord's defences and hitting him straight in the chest with the flat hand. The wind was knocked out of Rigmor's lungs and he had to bend down a bit to ease the pain in his chest. Yet Caman did not relent. He curled his arm around the Nord's neck while his other hand gripped him by the belt. In his rage, he was able to lift the Nord high up and slam him to the ground with ease. Dazed Rigmor stayed down a moment, a moment he waited too long. Caman grabbed his right wrist and bend the arm on the back while grabbing the man on his shirt's collar lifting him up only to twirl around on his heel and send Rigmor flying into the counter. The bottles swayed yet stayed in place, while the Nord got up. Growling he attacked again with a kick to Caman's side. The mer, however, caught his foot and locked it tightly to his side, bringing his own foot behind the Nord's leg and sending him down with another shove to the chest. Rigmor landed on his back with such force, that all air was pushed out of his lungs. Before he was able to regain his breath, the mer put a boot on his throat, leaning over his defeated opponent with a triumphant grin. Rigmor grabbed Caman's ankle, trying to through the elf off balance, but the elf only laughed haughtily. Putting more pressure on his foot with every heart beat, Caman watched the Nord's face turning from red to purple, while his body flailed around in the feeble attempt to get free.

"See."

He said calmly.

"Crushed beneath my boot."

Caman paused, straightening himself while putting, even more, pressure on the man's throat. Beneath him the Nord breathed stertorously, tears streaming out of his already bloodshot eyes. Nobody else seemed interested in fighting Caman, all just stared at the tall Altmer, who had put the tavern's strongest fighter to the ground without breaking a sweat. Slowly he put his foot away from Rigmor's throat who sucked air in greedy gulps and walked over to his sword.

"Word of advice, Rigmor."

He said, strapping the claymore to his back, before turning to the Nord. Rigmor sat on his knees, rubbing his nearly crushed sore throat.

"You're going to buy me a chicken and then leave."

The Nord got up shakingly.

"Fuck you, Verhane!"

He spat. Smiling the mer walked up to the Nord until their bodies almost touched and locked his gaze to Rigmor's bloodshot eyes. Rigmor looked away.

"You are going to buy me a fucking chicken and an ale!"

Caman said dangerously calm while curling his fingers into Rigmor's collar, pulling him even closer.

"Are we clear, Rigmor?"

The Nord nodded hastily, while Caman still fixed him with his cold green eyes. Then suddenly the elf let go and patted the bigger man on the cheek.

"Good boy!"

Almost carelessly the Altmer walked up to the bar and took his seat there. The barkeep shot him a scolding look, which Caman rewarded with a bright smile.

"Chicken and Ale, please!"

He said in his most pleasant voice.

"My friend here pays."

Maenlorn's eyes shot over to Rigmor, who only nodded, before leaving the tavern. With a sigh, he got Caman what he wanted, casually asking.

"How long are you going to stay Verhane?"

The Altmer shrugged, taking a big bite out of his chicken.

"Not long...Man. I'm starving!"

He said while chewing. The Bosmer nodded, obviously relieved by the information. He was about to turn as Caman asked:

"You don't happen to know a little Dunmer thief by the name of Shadow?"

Maenlorn froze. If he withheld the information, Caman surely would take his tavern apart, as soon as he found out what he wanted. Slowly he turned and looked up to the tall mer. He found the cold green eyes resting on him, but before he could answer, Caman said with a knowing smile.

"Just tell me when he comes here. I won't cause you any trouble, I promise."

The Bosmer sighed.

"You ARE trouble, Verhane. He'll be here tonight."

With a smirk, the Altmer raised the ale to his lips and took a big swig. He left the tavern shortly after he finished his meal, much to Maenlorn's relieve.

* * *

Night fell over Anvil and one lone Dunmer silently crept through the streets of the harbourside town. A chill wind blew from down from the land and brought the smell winter with it. Shadow pulled the black cape tighter around his slender frame, while he walked briskly towards the great gate dividing the harbour from the rest of the town. Shadow liked this town and though it was full of pirates and thieves he seldom got in trouble. And some even were a little scared of him, be it from his eerie purple eyes or his scarred face he did not know. He took a deep breath in. It had become a daily ritual to go into the Flowing Bowl by nightfall. There he could get the newest rumours while enjoying a drink and a meal.  
He tilted his head a little to the side, as he spied an Altmer in a fine cape coming down the main road.

 _Looks like a traveller, who just arrived at the harbour._

Shadow's nimble fingers twitched a little. He liked snobby Altmer, they always carried good money with them. And other goods. A smile lit up his features.

 _Surely a mage._

He squinted his eyes a little and took a closer look at the High Elf. The dark cape was rimmed by a bordure with golden embroidery. He had the hood deep in his face and his head bowed down, which made it impossible for the young Dunmer to see his features. Still, Shadow smelled easy money with the High Elf and took a good look around. The guards were far away on the main gate and he knew the back alleys good enough for a quick escape. He took a deep breath and slowed down, while he watched the Altmer pass by Newheim the Portley's house. Only a couple of steps separated them, and Shadow was about to bump into the tall elf. He intended to grab his purse in the commotion and then make a beeline for the Flowing Bowl. However, as he made contact with the Altmer he was in for an unpleasant surprise. In a quick move, the tall mer grabbed the young Dunmer by the collar and dragged him into the dark alley between Newheim's and Pinarus Inventius' home. There Shadow found himself pressed against the wall, held up by the collar, his feet dangling in the air. Calmly the Altmer put his hood back, revealing a high pony tale with unruly bangs of flaming red hair. Green eyes looked coldly into Shadow's purple once.

"Next time you try to steal my purse I'll break your fingers, you little sod. Very slowly."

The elf said in a calm collected voice.

"I...I'm sorry."

The Dunmer stammered, earning a smile from the High Elf.

"Shadow, hm?"

Caman asked casually, letting the young man down, who paled at the sound of his own name. It was then that Shadow realised that this was no mage and their run in was no mere coincidence. The tall mer wore a fine set of hardened leather armour over a chainmail shirt, with steel shoulder guards and gauntlets. A frown appeared on the young man's face, getting a suspicion of who might have sent that mer.

"You're not from the town's guard. What do you want from me?"

"Straight to the point. I love that. Just information."

Shadow huffed turning away from the warrior.

"Forget it! I'm no snitch! Go get your information from someone else!"

He started to walk back to the main road, but Caman's hand clamped down on his neck hard, making Shadow wince in pain, as he raised his shoulders in reflex. Moments later he was shoved against the wall with such force, that his head banged against the stone painfully.

"I think I haven't made myself clear. I want some fucking information and I want them from you!"

Shadow gulped down his initial shock, letting his anger show through.

"Well too bad! I don't have any! Now let me go, or I'll call the guards!"

As if on cue both mer could pick up the heavy footfalls of a guard coming from the harbour. Shadow's eyes glimmered with an unspoken warning and he drew in a deep breath. Caman only smirked and before the smaller elf could react, he grabbed the Dunmer by the throat and lifted him into the air with one hand. Shadow gasped for air and tried to pry the fingers away, while he flailed around with his legs helplessly.

"Scream."

Caman said dryly.

"If you can."

Shadow tried to scream, tried to attract the guard's attention, but he could not get more out of his tight throat than a pained little moan. The guard passed by without noticing the two figures in the dark alleyway between the two houses. As soon as Caman was sure, that the guard was out of earshot, he let the Dunmer down to the ground again, loosening the grip around his throat only enough to allow him to breathe and speak.

"I was told, you were difficult to work with."

Caman continued with a chilling cold voice.

"That you had the tendency to talk back."

Shadow's eyes widened slightly, as a bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Who told you?"

He asked, his voice a bit hoarse already.

"Your friend Lucien send me."

"I don't know anyone by the name of Lucien! You have the wrong guy. Leave me alone already!"

A cruel smile tugged on the High Elf's lips, while he slowly drew his sharp Elven dagger out. He could feel Shadow swallow and a fine sheen of sweat coated the dark skinned mer's forehead. He traced the scars across the Dunmer's face lightly with the tip of his blade.

"No?"

Caman asked, trailing the blade over Shadow's jawbone and rested it under his chin.

"Now let me tell you something you little sod! Each time you lie to me, I'll add another scar to those two."

Caman paused, fixing his green eyes to the smaller mer's ones.

"Or maybe I cut an ear off. So let's try again. Your friend, Lucien, the once who messed your fucking ugly face up send me. You understand now?"

Shadow nodded hastily.

"Of course...that Imperial..."

"Right. That Imperial. I believe we can talk now like reasonable people? It would be a shame if I had to tell that Imperial, your were killed...accidentally."

The way the Altmer emphasised the last sentence made a shiver run down Shadow's spine and again the Dunmer nodded. Caman slowly released his grip on the throat. Shadow's posture slumped, while he rubbed his aching throat. His gaze flickered to the Altmer, who was staring down at him with bloodlust in his eyes. Shadow sunk deeper into his cape, shivering.

"What do you want to know?"

He finally asked, his voice flat.

"I'm looking for a Breton weirdo. Clad in black mostly. Heard anything?"

Shadow's gaze wandered to the floor, while he frantically searched his memory. And then he remembered a rumour, he had heard a while back.

"Yeah. Maybe."

Caman raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, maybe? I don't need no fucking maybes, you donkey! Spit it out already!"

Shadow seemed to shrink even more.

"I heard Ulfgar Fog-Eye talk about renting out his basement. Didn't say to whom, but he is not overly happy with his lodger. As far as I remember, he complained about strange noises coming from the basement. And a putrid smell."

Caman frowned, putting his dagger back into his sheath.

"The lighthouse keeper? Hm... "

He rubbed his chin in thought, before patting Shadow's cheek with an almost cheerful smile.

"Alright, S'wit. I'll check your story out. If it leads me to a dead end, I'll visit you again."

Caman grabbed his collar again and lifted him to his eye-level with ease.

"If you lied to me, I'll rape your fucking corpse!"

With a shove, he finally let go of Shadow, who scrambled away a couple of feet, yet did not dare to run away. Caman turned towards the smaller Dunmer.

"What are you waiting for? Get the fuck out of my sight!"

Shadow nodded and hastily made a beeline for the harbour gate. He did not stop, did not look back until he arrived at the Flowing Bowl. There he ordered a bottle of mead and sat down at the bar, where he gulped the bottle down in two big sips. Maenlorn watched the young Dunmer silently before he grabbed a bottle of Sujamma from under the bar and poured the sad mer a shot glass. Putting it in front of Shadow he smiled

"Let me guess. Verhane got to you?"

Shadow looked up with surprise.

"Who?"

"Big guy, red hair, tattooed face, messed up ears?"

Maenlorn provided. Shadow nodded.

"So that's his . He was sent by an old... friend."

Unconsciously he rubbed over his scarred cheek, while the Bosmer sighed.

"I don't know what kind of trouble you got yourself into, kid. And I don't know about your old friend. But stay clear of Verhane. He is a violent man."

Shadow laughed dryly.

"I noticed... How did you know?"

Maenlorn sighed.

"He was asking for you, after almost killing Rigmor."

Shadow's eyes went wide. He knew Rigmor, big bulky Nord, no one really liked to mess with. That guy was strong as a bull.

"That Altmer did what?"

The short Bosmer filled Shadow's glass again.

"Flung him around like a puppet. For a moment I thought he would kill him. Poor Rigmor still got a sore throat. He's barely able to talk."

The young Dunmer swallowed uncomfortably and rubbed over his own throat with an unconscious move.

"Gee. What is that guy's problem?"

The barkeep shrugged and turned to wash out some mugs.

"I don't know, and I don't care. He pays for his drinks, and the Fighters Guild keeps him busy most of the time."

Shadow nodded and emptied his glass, before leaving the tavern. He felt like he needed rest early.

* * *

Caman left Anvil through the main gate, as soon as he got the information and got Nerevar from the stables. He packed his cloak into the saddlebacks. He would not need any obscuring clothes for what he had in mind. A short while later he stopped his horse on the hillside overlooking the Anvil Harbour. The lighthouse stood there like a finger raised in warning, the fire burning in the top giving it an ominous halo in the dark. A frown appeared on Caman's forehead. A feeling of foreboding struck him, a feeling that he actually might be on the right track and that something dark and evil has taken residence in the old lighthouse. He could see that this was a very old building. Anvil was an old town, but this lighthouse seemed to be here ever since the harbour was built. He shook the feeling off, he can't allow himself to be led by feelings, especially since he had some work to do. His childhood friend was in need of his services. He dug his feet lightly into the flanks of his horse and the big brown steed calmly made his way down the steep footpath leading to the lighthouse.  
The foreboding feeling did not go away and as the High Elf stood in front of the towering building, an involuntary shiver ran down his spine. For a brief moment, Caman considered speaking to Ulfgar and pressing the basement key from the keeper. But in the end, he went straight to the basement door, not wanting any unwanted attention. He wasn't so sure that Ulfgar would keep his mouth shut, so best he didn't know at all. The High Elf looked around one final time. No guards, everything was quiet. At this time of night, the town seemed almost deserted. He smirked, dropping down on one knee and pulled his lockpicks out of his hidden pocket in his belt. With a few practised hand movements, he heard the satisfying click of an opening lock. His smirk turned into a triumphant one and slowly he stood up. As he reached for the doorknob however his gaze fell on the sandstone basement of the massive lighthouse building. Caman raised an eyebrow in surprise, while he ran his hand over the massive quarter next to him, to brush dirt and sediment off. There, almost washed out by wind and rain was a tiny hand print, carved into the soft stone.

"Looks like the Brotherhood has a history with that building. Makes me wonder what' inside..."

He mumbled while pulling his sharp elven dagger out of his sheath, before opening the door as quiet as possible.  
He nearly gagged at the putrid smell of rotting flesh, that hit him upon entering.

"By Mephala's tits! What is that little fucker doing in here!"

He hissed, drawing breath through his mouth while covering both nose and mouth with his free hand. It took him a while until he was able to stand the smell.

 _How the fuck is Sorilkad able to stand that stench..._

He crept down the few stairs and came across the rotting bloated corpse of a great black dog. The stench in the little untidy and with crates and barrels littered room was almost unbearable and the humming of the flies was so loud, he abandoned sneaking around. His soft footfalls were completely drowned out by the buzzing of the insects. The Altmer turned right and was met by the grizzly sight of the naked corpse of a woman. Though decay had already reached its advanced stages, he was still able to see the damage done to her body. Especially around her private parts, while her face was mutilated beyond recognition. Caman turned away in disgust. His gaze wandered around the room, but what he saw made him sick to his stomach. There were multiple body parts strewn around the room, all of them in various stages of decomposition. Tools used for Necromancy were neatly placed on a table, on another one, a plate with an arm next to a piece of cheese caught his attention. A deep frown appeared on his face.

"Is he eating people? What the fuck is wrong with that bugger?"

He wondered out loud. As answer a deep guttural noise made him swirl around. There was another door on the far end of the room. Silently he stepped to it, his dagger tightly clenched in his fist and leant his ear against the wood. He was able to hear scratching and growling noises from the other side of the door, as well as rapid, laboured panting. The Altmer grabbed the door handle but found it locked. He quickly picked the lock and took a defensive stand before ripping the door open. A big wolflike dog jumped him with bared fangs, but Caman was able to grab the beast by the throat and press it to the floor. A quick stab to the heart and the poor tortured creature fell limp. Caman stood up with a sigh, entering the little back room with caution. It was dimly lit by a bunch of candles on a table. A thin layer of dust covering the furniture told the Altmer, that the basement had been deserted of a while now. Surely the candles were magical, like those who still burned in the ancient Ayleid ruins. He quickly realised that the traitor used this room as sort of shrine, a chair placed in front of the table. The magic candles were placed in a circle around the centrepiece of the shrine. There, placed on a silver plate was the mummified head of a female. A mixture of flowers lay around the head.  
Caman straightened and put his dagger away with a disgusted sneer.

"Oh bugger."

He sighed, while letting his gaze wander further around the small room. His gaze fell on a small book bound in green leather. He cocked his head to the side, while he began to read through the journal. And while he did, his frown grew deeper and deeper.

"Well, well."

He said, slapping the book shut.

"That bloody Imperial fucked that little shits mind up pretty bad."

The elf stepped over to a cupboard, snooping through the traitor's belongings.

"At least we have found some solid evidence. Lucien will be interested in that book. And hopefully, it will be enough to get rid of that sod."

He grabbed a leather bag, he found in a barrel and stuffed the book inside, before turning to leave. In the doorway however he stopped, slowly turning back to look at the head. A big grin appeared on the Altmer's face, while he grabbed the head and stuffed it into the same bag.

"And you, old lady, are going to visit your son."

Still grinning he exited the basement.  
The fresh, cool breeze blowing in from the sea was like air to a drowning person. He inhaled deeply as if he wanted to banish the foul stench out of his lungs. A faint glow already painted the night sky red as Caman finally turned his back to the lighthouse and mounted his steed. Slowly he rode through the quiet streets of Anvil, coming near the plaza in front of the main gate. There his gaze fell on the face of a familiar young Dunmer, who didn't look too thrilled about seeing Caman so soon again. A giant smile appeared on the fierce Altmer's face while he passed Shadow by.

"Stay safe, sera. Until we meet again."

He said, before passing through the gates. Moments later the sound of thundering hooves faded away in the distance.


	16. Put to the floor

**Chapter 16 – put to the floor**

Days turned into a week, while they waited for Caman's return. Lucien recovered nicely from his ordeal and he found Sorilkad to be quite the fierce teacher. Every day the Dunmer would see to it, that Lucien got used to wearing the heavy armour of an Imperial guard.  
The sun had already reached its highest point and despite it being a cold autumn day, sweat was dripping into his light-brown eyes. Lucien Lachance was in full armour, except his helmet, while Sorilkad only wore his pants. The Dunmer swung his short sword at the Imperial, which Lucien was able to block with his own sword. With a turn, he guided the enchanted blade of the mage away from his body. Sorilkad on the other hand jumped back a little and threw a fireball in Lucien's direction. The assassin ducked down, dodging the fire and using his momentum to storm forward and swing at the Dunmer. Sorilkad raised his weapon, letting the Imperial's sword scratch along his blade, before turning his body slightly. With a quick turn of his wrist, he turned the block into an attack. Both man first locked their swords together at the handle before locking their gazes. While Lucien's breath was laboured, Sorilkad seemed as calm as ever. The Dark Elf smirked coldly at the Imperial, which caused Lucien to growl.

"Don't be so smug!"

Sorilkad's smile grew even wider.

"I am as smug as I want, Cyrodiil."

He said, while fire lit suddenly up in his free palm. Lucien's eyes widened a little, he could feel the heat of the fire on his face. With an angry grunt he shoved the slender Dunmer away from him, unlocking their swords in the process. Sorilkad recoiled swiftly. On nimble feet he ran straight forward, watching Lucien swing his weapon. Sorilkad dove down at the right moment, dove through the man's arm, came up behind him and kicked the Imperial hard in the back. Lucien fell forward, caught his fall, rolled and came up in time to block the Dunmer's blade. Again, he locked it at the handle and with a quick twist of his wrist, send the enchanted blade clattering to the floor. His other hand shot forward and punched the Dunmer square in the chest. Hard. Sorilkad, wearing no protective gear stumbled backwards, wheezing and gasping for air, but quickly found his footing again. It was now Lucien's turn to smirk, seeing the Dark Elf disarmed. He changed the hold of his weapon, and slowly the assassin began to circle the mage, who raised a displeased eyebrow.

"I accept your surrender."

Lucien said calmly, which was answered with a dry laugh.

"Oh? But I am not yet defeated."

Sorilkad purred with a slight grin, while a skeleton warrior with sword and shied appeared next to him. It immediately charged at the Imperial, who had to back away with a defensibly raised sword.

"That's cheating!"

He exclaimed with a low growl.

"Who ever told you, I was a fair fighter?"

Sorilkad calmly retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"If I remember correctly, you didn't even know I was a fighter at all."

He chuckled deeply as he heard the Imperial's intelligible answer, while he ferociously fought the skeleton warrior. The Dunmer still chuckled, as Lucien finally was able to destroy the undead warrior. Slowly the assassin walked up to the Dunmer and pointed the tip of his sword at Sorilkad's heart. The mage still did not move, just lowered his head a little, still watching his friend intently.

"You're dead!"

Lucien grinned to which Sorilkad only shrugged.

"Really?"

The assassin straightened a bit, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

"What do you mean..."

Lucien was stopped short by a cold sharp dagger pressed against his throat. He froze, realizing that this wasn't one of Sorilkad's tricks, thought the Dunmer puffed his chest out with a triumphant smirk. The smell of horse sweat, leather and iron permeated Lucien's senses, while he felt the hot breath of the man who snugged up on him on his ear.

"Wrong. You are dead, Cyrodiil S'wit."

A smooth yet familiar voice whispered. A moment later the dagger disappeared and the Altmer went to greet the Dunmer with a warrior's hug.

"I see you made good progress."

Verhane said after greeting the Imperial as well.

"And for an assassin, you're not that bad a fighter. A bit rough around the edges still, but we can smooth you out."

Lucien grimaced.

"I still prefer the more stealthy approach to things."

Caman chuckled.

"Stealthy and stabby. That's the job description of your kind isn't it?"

The Imperial's face darkened, as he grew more and more frustrated with the mer.

"And what's yours? Annoying and arrogant?"

Caman squared his shoulders and turned fully towards the smaller human, his fists raised as if ready for a fight. With a sigh, Sorilkad stepped between his friends.

"Please. Can't we all behave like civilized people?"

Lucien huffed.

"Well, I can. I'm not a savage barbarian."

He locked is gaze to Caman's.

"Unlike others."

He added. Caman took another angry step with a low growl, the Dunmer being the only barrier separating him from the Imperial.

"Fuck you, asshole!"

He hissed. Sorilkad shook his head in resignation, pressing Caman back again to get some personal space back.

"You know what? Duke it out, do what ever you want, but leave me out of it. I'll be inside!"

He turned towards the cottage, raising his right hand on the way.

"Oh. And try not to kill each other!"

Seconds later the door of the cottage slammed shut behind the Dunmer's slender form, leaving the arguing men behind. Caman turned to look at the smaller male again, meeting cold dark eyes and a raised silver short sword.

"You know, I wonder how he puts up with you!"

The mer grunted, swatting the sword away with his hand and walking over to his horse.

"Of all people in Tamriel, he had to befriend a fucking assassin!"

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"You don't like my kind."

The Altmer rolled his eyes.

"No way. Is it that bloody obvious?"

Unconsciously he rubbed over his scarred ear stump. A movement that did not go unnoticed by Lucien. But he only shrugged, deciding not to question the mer about his ears. Not yet.

"So what? He did, so get over it!"

Caman grunted, taking Nerevar by the rein and leading him over to the stable. Lucien finally sheathed his sword, following the mer. Inside he was greeted by Shadowmere. He caressed his horse gently while watching the Altmer taking the saddle of his steed.

"You know, Cyrodiil,"

Caman said after a while.

"I had a fucking great time in Anvil. Met some old friends, relived the good old times and met your little fetcher."

He turned to smile at Lucien.

"You were right. That little bugger has a knack for talking back. Had some pretty neat information, though."

Lucien's head perked up in interest, but Caman just went on.

"You had to go all assassin on his bloody face, did you? Your lot is so fucking messed up."

The man's eyes darkened in annoyance. He tried to be patient for Sorilkad's sake but the need of plunging a dagger between that mer's ribs grew stronger with every minute he had to stand his presence. Caman seemed oblivious, however, as he carelessly continued working on his horse.

"Do you know anything about the Anvil lighthouse?"

That question interrupted Lucien's dark train of thoughts but did nothing to improve his dark mood.

"No,"

he answered gloomily, which caused the mer to smirk. Yet Caman remained silent for a while.

"So what information?"

Lucien pressed, but the tall elf only shrugged.

"Ah, you'll like it. If I decide to share."

Caman walked past the Imperial, who grabbed his upper arm.

"Stop playing games with me, Altmer. I tend to react harshly to mockery."

Caman freed his arm with a grunt.

"And? You want to kill me? Listen S'wit. To me, you are a fucking stranger. And I don't like you! Don't even start to think I'll play errand boy for you lot. And you can't intimidate me like that little bugger in Anvil. You would end up with a bloody broken neck!"

Caman paused, fixing his cold gaze on Lucien's.

"I'll have a beer now. Don't think you come off so easily though. We'll ...duke it out later."

The tall mer left the assassin behind and went straight for the cottage, taking his leather bag with him. He could feel the Imperial's sour look on his back, which made him chuckle. Before he disappeared into the cottage, he took the book out and tossed the bag to the Imperial, who caught it easily.

"What's this?"

Caman shrugged.

"A little gift. Thought you like a reminder of your past."

Lucien's scowl grew even deeper, while he watched the Altmer disappeared into the cottage.  
Sorilkad turned to the sound of Caman entering the cottage. His face was darkened by an angry scowl, while he watched his friend silently for a couple of heartbeats.

"I do hope he is still alive and in one piece."

Caman smiled and made a dismissive gesture, before helping himself to an ale.

"Don't worry, the sod is fine. I know better than to destroy your work."

He looked around.

"I hope you've got something to eat. I'm fucking starving."

Both mer shared a smile.

"I'll heat up something."

The Dunmer said and stepped over to the fireplace, lighting it up with a strong spell.

"How was your journey?"

He finally asked, turning towards Caman, who had already unbuckled his Claymore and plopped down into a chair, resting his feet on another. Sorilkad's brows furrowed together. His friend looked tired.

"Quite nice. Though it is a long ride."

Sorilkad nodded, handing his friend a bowl of Shepard's stew.

"I guess you have not rested."

Caman shook his head.

"No, I wanted to come back as soon as possible. I don't trust that guy."

Something in Sorilkad's eyes drew Caman's attention.

"What's wrong?"

Sorilkad sighed but before he could answer, the door slammed shut behind the mer. Both elves turned to see Lucien walk up to them, a strange look in his eyes and a head in his hand. He stopped in front of the High Elf, who calmly continued eating.

"Who is that supposed to be?"

Lucien's tone of voice was dangerously low, but Caman only shrugged stuffing his mouth with a piece of meat.

"Don't you recognize her?"

He said while chewing.

"That's the Breton lady you killed. Bellwhatever's mother."

The Imperial raised an eyebrow.

"He kept his mother's head?"

The High elf took a big sip of his ale, before burping in Lucien's direction.

"Yeah. Built a freaking shrine around it."

Disgusted, Lucien shook his head, putting the head back into the bag. Sorilkad twirled his goatee between thumb and index finger, while nibbling on the small golden ring in his lower lip.

"That's all nice and good, but I doubt it will do."

The Imperial man grunted.

"No. It may startle him a little, but it's not enough to convince the Black Hand of my innocence."

Caman stopped chewing a heartbeat, as he perceived a change in the human. Something was definitely wrong with that man. With a deep sigh, he handed him the small book.

"Here. Read this."

Curiously Lucien took the book out of the Altmer's hand and raised an eye brow as he opened it, yet the haunted look did not leave his eyes. Caman knew that look. It was the look of a man, who had lost the will to fight, who had given up. Without a word, Lucien took his seat by the window and started reading, while Sorilkad watched him with worry barely hidden behind his eyes.

"What's that?"

He finally asked his friend.

"A diary. Pretty messed up, but I guess it will help. That Breton dirtbag pretty much confessed everything."

The Dunmer's gaze wandered back to the human. His brows were furrowed together while he read the diary. It didn't take him long to read through the pages, however. Thoughtful he put the book on a table in front of him before he stood up and went to the door.

"Where are you going?"

Sorilkad inquired.

"I need to think."

Was all the assassin said, before disappearing. Again, Sorilkad tugged on his beard in deep thought. He looked up as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Caman stood next to him, holding a bottle of beer out for him.

"You were telling me what's wrong with that bloody sod."

Caman said calmly.

"Though I think I know already."

Sorilkad took the bottle and took a big swig.

"I don't know. I fear his … family... damaged him more that he lets on."

Beside him, the High Elf snorted.

"He, yeah. Pretty fucked up family."

Sorilkad nodded.

"He suffers from night terrors. Woke up every night kicking and screaming. I pretend to be asleep though."

"I would have freaking nightmares too. After all, he had been gutted while being fucking alive. I don't wanna know how long he sat there staring at his bloody guts."

Sorilkad sighed and stood up, before starting pacing in front of the fire place.

"He's healing well and gets used to the armour."

Caman nodded.

"But he has given up."

Sorilkad turned, a surprised look in his eyes.

"I saw it in his eyes. He's lost hope."

"Makes sense. He's been in the Brotherhood for at least twenty years. The Brotherhood has become his family. He almost feels like a surrogate father to some of the members. And yet, he was kicked out the worst way possible. He told me that the Black Hand would not even listen to him. Not even give him a chance to plead in his case. It surely can shatter one's confidence."

Caman nodded, before standing up. Putting his hand back on the Dunmer's shoulder he said.

"I'll rest a little, wake me when he comes back. We still have a score to settle.

* * *

It was evening, the sun already low, when Lucien Lachance finally returned to the cottage. He found both mer inside, talking in their native language. They looked up when they heard him enter the cottage. The assassin walked straight up to the Altmer.

"I need you to go to Bravil."

Caman huffed.

"Who do you think I am, Lachance? Your sodding personal messenger?"

"Well, I can't go on my own."

The High Elf shrugged.

"And do I look like I fucking care?"

"Caman."

Sorilkad said in a low voice, that held a slight warning.

"Don't Caman me, Soril! I'm not running all over Tamriel for that sod of an assassin. Especially not that amateur kind!"

He turned towards the Imperial who stared at him with menace.

"You had every chance to hide and sit it out. But you fucked up, big time! I'm not getting involved further in your mess. I don't want..."

"You're afraid."

Lucien interrupted very quietly, ignoring the warning look Sorilkad shot him.

"You are afraid because you had a run in with assassins once. Cut your ear off, right?"

Caman's green eyes darkened to an almost moss coloured shade, while he grabbed the Imperial by the collar and lifted him up to his eye level.

"Don't ever call me afraid. I kill your sodding kind. I hunt you down and rip you open. Your Black Hand friends have been bumbling idiots to keep you alive. I would not only have ripped you open, I would have strangled you with your own fucking stinking guts. I really hope you remember the feeling of it because I will let you experience it again."

Lucien freed himself from the mer's grip shoving him back a little.

"You can try!"

A creepy smile appeared on Verhane's face.

"Best you put your armour on or I gut you like a pig. I'll wait outside. And don't make any mistake Lachance. I won't hold back."

Sorilkad turned towards Caman with an incredulous look.

"Caman, is that really necessary? He..."

"You know what, Sorilkad? Fuck this! Fuck the Dark Brotherhood! Fuck that Imperial! We'll settle it. NOW!"

Before Sorilkad was able to reply the Altmer already slammed the door shut behind him. The Dunmer turned toward Lucien, who already put his cuirass on and searched for his dagger.

"Lucien please don't. He is dangerous."

The man turned, his gaze cold and dark as the void.

"So am I, Sorilkad, so am I."

Lucien Lachance found the proud Altmer waiting outside. He had exchanged his claymore for a fine thin sword and a shield. Lucien unsheathed his silver sword as well and used his Blade of Woe as a defensive weapon. Both men started to circle each other, waiting for the other to attack. Looking for any weaknesses.

"So you think you are this good?"

The assassin growled darkly. Caman smiled.

"Aye. Damn sure better that you."

He paused, searching the human's face.

"Tell me, Cyrodiil. How did it feel, being beaten up by a woman and a child?"

His smile grew a little wider. There it was again, that haunted look in the Imperial's eyes. It was there, only a moment, but then replaced by barely controlled anger.

"Oh did I hit a nerve? Or did you even like it? Tell me, did you get all excited by the torture? Did you have a little fun before she gutted you? I can do the same for you. But only if you squeak for me like the Imperial pig that you are!"

The Imperial had started shaking, trying to keep a level head and control his anger. Caman was close, he knew it, he just needed to push a little further.

"Or was it the little Breton sod. Did he..."

 **"ENOUGH!"**

Lucien roared and jumped forward his sword raised. Caman chuckled, he had waited for this kind of headless attack. In a swift move, he brought his shield up. The sword scratched over it with a shrill wail, then the shield connected hard with Lucien's face. He stumbled backwards, tasting blood in his mouth. But at least his rage had cooled down enough to realise that he had been manipulated into attacking blindly. That Altmer was playing a game.

"Well, two can play this game."

He growled, but Caman only shrugged.

"Sure. But I don't wanna play. I want to bloody kill!"

Finally, the tall elf brought his sword up and made a rather half-hearted attack, which was easily countered by two fast and short strikes, directly aiming at the Altmer's middle. A less experienced opponent might have been hit and dead already, but on Verhane's raised shield the attack played a melody consisting of only two notes. Still smirking and well protected by his shield, the elf charged, using his whole bodyweight. Lucien was thrown backwards before he had the chance to sidestep his adversary. Caman's sword flew at him from the side, which Lucien blocked with his dagger. Again the shield came dangerously close but the Imperial kicked it with his foot.  
Caman made a step back, raising his shield immediately and deflected the short sword while estimating the assassins balance. He attacked swiftly, aiming for the stomach.  
Somehow, Lucien felt the attack coming. He got on the tip of his toes, sucked his guts in and stuck his bottom out. Despite his desperate defence reaction, he felt the sharp sword scratch over his stomach, right where Arquen had slit him open. For a brief moment, he looked down, almost expecting to see his intestines protruding from his belly. But all he saw was the light scratch on the surface of the iron armour. He growled darkly, going into the offensive and bringing forth some effective counter-attacks. But no matter how skilful he attacked, Caman always seemed to know how he was going to attack and defended himself effortlessly.  
Caman still smiled, raised his sword so that its blade would rest on the top of the shield and attacked. With his body low, he attacked with all his strength. Lucien let himself fall to the side and rolled off his left shoulder to reduce the impact. He had wanted to come up before the elf was able to stop and turn around, giving him the chance to attack him from behind. But the Imperial did not get what he had hoped for. As he turned around, Caman already was next to him, holding his round shield with both hands like a giant plate. Before Lucien was able to react he was hit in the face with the heavy iron shield. Hard. He groaned and fell down heavily. For a moment he just lay there motionless, willing the pain and dizziness to go away. Bright dots were dancing in front of his eyes and he could feel his blood run down over his lip and jaw from his broken nose.  
He could feel the Altmer's eyes on him, but he did not find it within him to grab his sword and attack again. So he waited for the elf to make the next move. And part of him hoped he would end it. Would send him back into the Void and spare him the humiliation and shame he still had to endure. He had been played like a fiddle, running into every trap with eyes wide open. Endangered his family. And now? Now he sat in a remote cabin, his spirit broken and without hope, while the true traitor could do anything with his family. And he could do nothing. He was at the mercy of these two elves who had been with him for the last month.

"You still alive down there?"

He heard the Altmer's smooth voice. Lucien opened his eyes and met the gaze of Caman's who stood over him, holding his hand out. Lucien rolled over and got up on his own, wiping the blood away. He had been put to the ground, put in his place. Again. With his shoulders slumped a little he walked away, leaving his sword and dagger where they had fallen and took his seat on a giant boulder overlooking Lake Rumare and the Imperial City.

"Here."

A healing potion was shoved into his hands and he regarded Caman with a strange look, who sat down beside him. Caman smiled.

"What? I can't let you return damaged. Soril will fucking kill me."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"And why exactly shall I drink it then?"

"Because he will kill you too, for your clumsiness."

Lucien sighed.

"Great..."

A while they sat in silence, watching the setting sun, both deep in their own thoughts. Night had already fallen, as Caman finally sighed and held out the Blade of Woe.

"You've lost that. A fine blade does not deserve to lie in the dirt."

Lucien stared at his blade but did not take it. The High Elf frowned.

"What's wrong? A cutthroat needs his dagger."

The Imperial took his blade and looked at it, but said nothing. Still frowning Caman quietly said.

"You did well. I actually enjoyed our fight."

"I lost. Of course, you would enjoy that."

The elf chuckled.

"I said I was good. Besides, I probably train in heavy armour longer than you are alive."

The Imperial only grunted, his gaze still resting upon the Imperial City.

"Listen Cyrodiil. I see that you are haunted by what has happened to you. But you need to draw strength from it. And you'll need strength for what is still to come."

For the first time in their conversation, Lucien turned to look directly into the mer's green eyes.

"How..."

He started, but the elf held his hand up.

"I can see it in your eyes. Still. You've survived the impossible. There is still a purpose."

A slight smile tugged at the assassin's lips.

"Strange coming from someone like you."

Caman raised a curious eyebrow at this, prompting Lucien to continue.

"You can deal death, but you lack purpose."

Caman grunted, yet stayed silent.

"Say nothing? I can appreciate that."

Lucien said calmly, his eyes again watching the lights from the city sparkle on Lake Rumare. After a while Caman suddenly said.

"Silence is the music of Sithis. Am I right?"

Surprised the Imperial turned towards the Altmer, who just smiled.

"What do you want me to do in Bravil?"

He asked after a while. Again Lucien turned with surprise.

"I thought you would not play errant boy for me."

The High Elf shrugged.

"As I said earlier you did fucking good. I think I'll have to muster a bit of respect for you from now on."

Lucien chuckled darkly.

"I need you to take the book to a Bosmer by the name of Ungolim."

"Another assassin?"

"Yes. But you might find him a bit difficult to work with. He's a very private man."

"Oh, I can pretend to be from your guild."

"That would not..."

Lucien paused in thought.

"Maybe that could work. If you get to him, say " Sanguine my brother." Maybe he will listen then."

"Sanguine? A bloody password? What's the question?"

Lucien grinned.

"What do you want to know that for?"

The Elf shrugged.

"It may come in handy."

Lucien hesitated a moment, but then with a sudden impulse he answered:

"What is the colour of night."

The Altmer laughed out loud.

"You guys are so fucked up. Totally nuts, let me tell you!"

They lapsed into silence again. Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf sang his sad song. His calls went unanswered and for a moment, Lucien's heart went out to the creature. After a long while he finally said:

"You can't be that good, Verhane. Your name hasn't appeared on one of my contracts yet."

Caman turned to stare at the assassin before bursting out in laughter. A laugh that came from the depths of his soul, clear and honest.

"A brotherhood joke? Damn, I begin to like you sod!"

He said between fits of laughter, clapping Lucien on the back. It took the mer a while to get serious again, but when he did, he said:

"I know you've been put to the ground by your peers. And what you've experienced will haunt you a while. I've been there too. But now listen closely, Lucien. You fought and you survived. They kicked an assassin to the floor."

He paused, his hand landing heavy on Lucien's shoulder.

"And raised a warrior."

Lucien was speechless. For all the time that mer's attitude had annoyed him to the bone, he would not have thought to get that kind of advice out of him. And for the first time in a long while, Lucien actually smiled. That mouthy Altmer had shown him a way out of his dilemma. He had hard evidence, he could use against Bellamont and finally his fighting spirit returned. Came back with a fierceness he did not anticipate himself. In the dark, his eyes gleamed and the first outlines of a plan began to form in his mind. Caman was right. They raised a warrior. He would fight. And though he was haunted by his torture, he vowed to himself that his time would come. In the end, it would not be him, lying in his blood, dead and lifeless. Out in the distance, the wolf cried out again and Lucien's smile grew wider.

 _I'm ready to fight it. Once I was the prey, but now I am the wolf._

Caman's dark chuckle brought him out of his thoughts. The High Elf patted his cheek.

"That's the look I wanted to see. And now come!"

Caman jumped down the boulder.

"Before Sorilkad gets fucking mad at us for being so late."

* * *

Lucien awoke next morning feeling well rested for the first time. He found Sorilkad outside looking down at the White Gold Tower. He turned as he heard the light footsteps behind him.

"Here."

Sorilkad said in his gruff voice, shoving an envelope into the Imperial's hand. The man raised a questioning eyebrow and opened the envelope. In it he found some copies of the passages, detailing Bellamont's plan.

"Caman has left sometime in the early morning hours."

Sorilkad explained.

"He said we should wait for his return."

Lucien nodded, hoping the Altmer would not tarry on his way.

"Any thing else?"

He asked. Sorilkad smirked almost wickedly.

"Of course. Training you S'wit."


	17. Faithful encounters

**Chapter 17 – faithful encounters**

By night it had started to snow. Lightly though and not yet enough to cover the ground, but still an unmistakable sign that winter had finally arrived. Arquen shivered in the cold and pulled her dark cloak tighter around her slender frame. She stood still a moment, looking around. Beneath her lay the city of Cheydinhal, quiet and sleepy as ever, unaware of the dark presence residing in its very bowels. Above her loomed the shadow of the old Imperial Fort Farragut. Dark and foreboding the crooked tower reached for the sky, a silent reminder of another time. She presumed walking, yet with each step she took, a strange feeling of dread filled her. Her instincts screamed at her to turn around and hurry away, as far as possible from this place. She looked around again, spying nothing that could explain the feeling.

 _Maybe a spell Bellamont put on that place to keep unwanted adventurers away._

She thought, clutching her hand to her pounding heart. A couple of days ago, a letter had reached her from Speaker Bellamont.

 _Speaker Arquen, I request assistance in Cheydinhal. Please meet me at Fort Farragut. There is a hollowed out tree just north-east of the main gate. Your secrecy in this case is of utmost importance._

She really wondered, what the freshly promoted Speaker needed her assistance for. It did not bode well though, that he would not meet with her at the Sanctuary. She assumed that it might have something to do with Lachance's betrayal. Maybe there was still someone in the sanctuary who worked with him, an accomplice so to speak of. Arquen sighed deeply, while she thought back to Lucien's torture. As much as it pained her to torture a beloved brother, it had been deeply satisfying at the same time. The smell of his blood, the twitching of his muscles as he tried to fight back his agonized cries, the pain in his eyes, it had taken her to a high, better than any drug could. And finally the expression on his face, when he received his fatal wound. She would cherish that moment forever. How the proud had fallen. The only regret Arquen had, was that she hadn't been able to see the light in his eyes die. She smiled, while she recalled all those events. She smiled still, as she reached the hollowed out tree and climbed the ladder down into the darkness below.  
She arrived at a dimly lit living area. A look around told her, that this most likely had been Lachance's little hide out. There was a desk with neatly stacked scrolls, a shelf with books and the occasional decorative human skull. The walls were decorated with tapestries that proudly displayed the black handprint. It looked like he had just left his home, if not for the layer of dust settling on everything. She tilted her head sideways, taking a closer look at things.

 _It still has Lucien's touch, everything so neat and ordered._

But the fire had died out a long time ago and the chill of winter had claimed these empty halls. A slight frown appeared on her face. These halls were just this. Empty. She did not appreciate of being kept waiting. Especially not in a dank, cold and gloomy fort. Had something happened to Bellamont already? Should she investigate the Sanctuary instead?

"Hello, Arquen."

A smooth yet cold voice came from behind her. She jumped a little, having not heard any footsteps at all and whirled around. And was hit in the head by something blunt and very heavy. White light exploded alongside the searing hot pain in her head and then everything went dark as she collapsed to the ground. Bellamont let go of the shovel and chuckled cruelly, grabbing her by the ankles and pulling her towards Lachance's sturdy bed, he had prepared earlier the day. With great delight, he shackled her to the bedposts, making sure she had as little motion range as possible. Then he started cutting the clothes from her limp body. She would not need her robe again.

* * *

Caman inhaled deeply as he stepped out of the Lonely Suitor's Lodge and scrunched up his nose.

"What a bloody disgusting hole of a town..."

He cursed slightly under his breath, making his way over the shaky, not really trustworthy looking suspension bridge spanning the Larsius River. He had arrived late last night and was barely able to sleep on the flea-bitten mattress of that run down tavern.

"Next time I sleep on a bloody bed roll outside that shithole!"

He really hoped that he would not have to stay long in his least favourite city. The smell of bracken water, fish and sewer almost made him gag.

"That wretched little assassin really owes me one!"

The Altmer paused a moment, looking left and right, while deciding which direction he should take. He turned right, towards the main gate, hoping to get some directions to Ungolim's house from some random beggar and as soon as he had the desired destination, he would return in the evening. Picking Ungolim's lock and subduing a little Bosmer should be easy enough. Fate had other plans though. He spied said Bosmer leaving a shop right across the street, his arms loaded with grocery bags. For a moment Caman considered following the other mer inconspicuously, but then the tall Altmer just smiled and shook his head slightly. When had he ever been inconspicuous? A tall guy with flaming red hair, disfigured ears and tattoos all over his body, along with his huge claymore. That always drew attention to him, if he wanted it or not.  
Caman exhaled and walked up to the Bosmer, making his presence known.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

Ungolim's step faltered just a tiny moment, then the Woodelf continued walking as if he hadn't heard anything. He even stepped his pace up a little. Ungolim hated to be outside of the safety of his home. And he hated those nosy adventurers coming into town and asking everybody for work or rumours. Behind him Caman straightened with a scowl on his face.

"Hey, you! I'm fucking talking to you!"

Ungolim shot the Altmer an annoyed glance over the shoulder.

 _Yes, definitely adventurer. No one in his right mind carries that big of a sword._

He thought, turning towards Caman.

 _Or maybe Fighters Guild._

He drew in a deep breath while watching the tall mer crossing their distance warily.

 _The day, we allow such braggarts to work for us, I quit..._

His thoughts trailed off, as Caman finally stood in front of him, with a weird smile on his face. Dark green eyes searched Caman's with a slight frown. That warrior gave him an uncomfortable feeling.

"I was beginning to think you were deaf, Bosmer!"

Ungolim's frown only deepened. There was something in that mer's attitude as well that made his inner alarms go off.

"I'm sorry."

Ungolim said with a forced smile.

"But I'm really not one for engaging in conversation. Please leave me."

The Altmer's stare hardened and his smile froze on his features, while Ungolim quickly turned around and scurried away.

"Difficult to work with my ass! Damn you, Lachance!"

He hissed under his breath, before following the Bosmer.

"I only have one question!"

He called after Ungolim.

"If you need directions, go ask the guards."

The small mer didn't even bother to look back at the warrior. Caman could feel his anger rising and for a moment he had to fight back the urge to break that mer's scrawny little neck.

"You arrogant little fetcher."

Caman hissed only loud enough for the Woodelf to hear. The last thing he wanted was to draw the guard's attention. But yet again he found himself ignored by the other man, who was just about to put his housekey into the lock. Caman sighed, before calling out.

"What is the colour of night?"

Ungolim froze immediately, turning towards the tall elf. The warrior smirked as he closed their distance, reminding the Woodelf of a predator closing in on his prey. Caman stopped only inches away from Ungolim, leaning down and whispered into his ear.

"Sanguine, my brother."

Ungolim shivered involuntarily by the sound of the elf's low voice and his hot breath brushing against his ear. Frowning deeply with suspicion he simply stated:

"You are not one of us."

Caman straightened with a triumphant glare and looked around.

"No."

He said, noticing the guards watching. Apparently, they had caused enough commotion for them to notice the unlikely pair of elves. Caman jerked his head slightly in their direction.

"So how about you invite me in and serve me a beer and we talk reasonably. Or we can talk about dealings of your bloody Brotherhood here in the open."

Ungolim winced slightly before looking around. He, too, noticed the guards keeping an eye on them. Inwardly he cursed, opening the door.

"Inside!"

He hissed ushering the Altmer in. Caman sauntered into the small hallway with a smile, followed by the Listener. By the time Ungolim had put his grocery bags way, Caman already had helped himself to a bottle of ale and waited in the living room. Ungolim stood across the room, eyeing that arrogant Altmer for a moment. It was then he noticed the High Elf's ear and he felt his heart rate pick up. How could he have missed that little detail before. He stuffed his right hand into the sleeve of his left arm, nervously fingering the hilt of his hidden blade.

"Who are you?"

His voice was barely more than an angry hiss, yet Caman bowed slightly, still smiling this unnerving smile.

"Caman Verhane! At your service!"

Caman straightened up to his full hight.

"And you are Ungolim I presume."

The Bosmer gave him a small sharp nod.

"What do you want from me? Here to kill me?"

Caman folded his arms across the chest, mirroring the Bosmer.

"I? Nothing. Though the thought of bashing your skull in did cross my mind."

Caman paused watching the small mer tense up.

"Sadly Fighters Guild laws prevent me from killing, unless I'm being attacked first."

Another small pause. Ungolim's eyes narrowed, giving the elf the I-don't-believe-you look.

"The Fighters Guild? What ..."

"I'm here on behalf of a...friend."

The warrior cut the Listener off. Still tense Ungolim watched him suspiciously.

"What friend? What in Sithis name do you want from me?"

Careful not to startle the Bosmer, Caman reached into his bag, without taking his eyes off of Ungolim. His frown deepened, as he got aware of the mer's posture and how he held his arms.

"If you jump me with that blade, I'll rip your fucking head off and crap into your windpipe!"

Caman growled, causing the Bosmer to straighten and drop his arms to the side. The Listener could do nothing, than to watch Verhane dig through his bag. That man was dangerous, he could feel it. And he moved with the grace of a predator. Not an easy target, not even for the Listener himself.  
Finally, Caman produced a small worn journal bound in green leather and handed it to the Bosmer.

"What's that ?"

The small man asked looking at the book like it would bite him. Caman sighed in slight annoyance.

"It's a fucking book!"

Ungolim looked up, a challenging expression on his face.

"I can see that it's a fucking book."

Caman's gaze darkened even more.

"Don't! Repeat me! That annoys me!"

Ungolim huffed.

"Oh yeah? Well, your whole presence annoys me!"

The Altmer straightened.

"Then read that FUCKING BOOK!"

Ungolim turned the journal over in his hand. It had no title on the cover, just some stains that looked a lot like dried blood. The High Elf turned away, putting his emptied bottle in the top of a high shelf as he did.

"I'll let myself out."

He said, yet stopped on the threshold. For the first time, he abandoned his ever-present smirk and gave the Bosmer an almost stern look.

"My friend has been wronged greatly. This book will clear his name."

Again, Ungolim's look flickered down to the unmarked book.

"Your friend... you never told me his name."

The Altmer shrugged.

"You'll figure it out."

He answered, disappearing into the hallway and going to the front door. He opened it, but stopped yet again, as he felt Ungolim's gaze bore into his back.

"You know, Ungolim. You should be more careful these days. Your traitor is still at large."

The Listener's head snapped up in alarm.

"How..."

He started but was cut off by the warrior.

"My friend was faithful. You killed the wrong guy."

Ungolim's eyes widened as the information sank in, while Caman cocked his head to the side.

"Ah, don't give me that look! Your goons didn't even bother to hear my friend's side of the story. They gutted him like a fucking pig."

Seconds later the door slammed shut behind Caman, leaving Ungolim behind in his dimly lit hallway. For a long time the little Bosmer just stared at his front door without really seeing it. The book heavy in his hand, the Altmer's words repeated themselves over and over in his mind.

 _My friend was faithful. The traitor is still at large._

Like a sleepwalker, he moved into the living room and sat down in his favourite chair by the window. His gaze wandered down to the book and he ran his fingers over the rough worn leather.

"Lachance... you came back to haunt me, didn't you? "

He whispered into the silence of his empty house, but as so often he received no answer, letting his thoughts wander into another direction.

 _Why hasn't our Mother warned me? Surely she knows what is going on. Why isn't she talking to me? Have I lost her favour?_

Ungolim sighed looking our of his window. He was able to get a tiny glimpse of the Lucky Old Lady. She had been quiet a while now. Sure occasional contracts would still come in, but something had changed. He feared that the Night Mother was most displeased by his inability to find the traitor and to ban the danger to the family. He sighed deeply once more and started reading the book.

* * *

Arquen awoke, shivering in the cold surrounding her. For a moment she lay still trying to piece her last few hours together. But her head seemed empty. She lay in a cold and dimly lit room with a pounding headache.

 _Lay?_

She wondered. Then she remembered. Remembered being summoned to Fort Farragut by Speaker Bellamont. Remembered looking around a room that reminded her so much of Lucien. And she remembered being hit over the head by something heavy. She gasped in shock, trying to sit up, but found that she was bound tightly by the wrists. Twisting her neck to the side as far as possible, she got a good glimpse on the sturdy chains that attached her to a no less sturdy wooden bedpost. There was no hope to get free, yet stubborn as she was, she pulled on the chains. As expected they bit into the tender flesh of her inner arms.

"Oh. You are awake."

A voice purred to her left. She turned to look and saw something move in the deep darkness surrounding her. A shadow amongst shadows that slowly solidified until the dark spat out a smiling Bellamont. Carefully he sat on the side of the bed and reached a hand out towards the bound woman. Almost gently he brushed a strand of blood crusted light brown hair out of her face.

"I was starting to get worried, Arquen."

Again he ran his fingers through her hair, twisting one strand around his index finger.

"You have such beautiful hair. Almost like her."

Arquen's eyes searched Bellamont's face. Something seemed off about him. Like he wasn't all there.

"Mathieu. Get me free."

His fingertips ghosted down the side of her face and traced her jaw bones.

"Oh. I'm afraid I can't do this, dearest sister."

She froze in shock. That was one answer she had not expected. Despite all hope, she pulled on the chains again, and again they held her secured.

"You will stay my guest for a little while."

He continued.

"And don't even try a spell. They are enchanted, you will only inflict damage on yourself."

Her eyes darkened in anger, her last hope shattered.

"Why?"

She spat.

"Why are you doing this?"

A weird smile appeared on Mathieu's features and he cocked his head to the side.

"You must be cold."

He stated, tracing his fingers down her throat, over her left breast, flank and thigh, resting his hand on her knee. She shivered as realisation hit her with stark clarity. She was completely naked, her feet bound to the bed post as well and her legs spread apart in an embarrassing and uncomfortable angle. Her eyes widened in horror and slowly shifted towards the Breton. Memories she had locked away long ago threatened to break through her mental barrier. It took her a second to realise that the young man had already taken off his clothes. She still just looked on in shock, while he turned and folded his black robe and laced leather pants neatly together and put them on a chair nearby, lining his boots up parallel to the chair's legs. Again there was this eerie smile on his face that began to creep the Altmer Speaker out. She swallowed hard, she had a faint idea what was to follow.

"I'll warm you, mommy."

He whispered his eyes looking through the elf woman and crawled into bed with her. He positioned himself atop of her, with his lower half between her legs.

"I...I'm not you mother."

She said, her voice low and shaking. She was smacked in the face hard. So hard in fact, that her lip cracked open and blood ran down her chin.

"Shut up you bitch!"

The Breton hissed, rage swirling behind his pale blue eyes. But only a moment, then his eyes glazed over again and hi started stroking the top of her head, matting her hair down.

"I've always loved your hair."

He whispered, his voice soft and his gaze distant. Arquen swallowed, the memories she tried to hold back growing stronger.

"It's ok, Mathieu."

She whispered while he started nuzzling her neck. He inhaled deeply through his nose, smelling her skin.

"It's ok. Mommy won't leave you."

His hands wandered down, caressing her shoulders and flanks.

"No,"

he whispered back, his breath hot against her throat.

"You won't leave me."

His hands found her breasts, and moments later his mouth followed, sucking on her nipple as if he expected to feed on it. Bellamont's face morphed into that of Arquen's uncle and she had to take a shaky breath in through gritted teeth to will that picture away.

"It's ok."

She said, staring at the ceiling.

"Mommy will take care of you."

"Yes,"

He whispered back.

"Take care of me."

She took another calming breath in. This was her chance. If she could use his delusion it was now.

"But first you need to untie mommy."

He squeezed her breasts painfully tight, burring his face in her hair again. Arquen had to close her eyes, as the image of her uncle appeared in front of her inner eyes again, while she tried to bend her face away from the Breton.  
His fingers dug into the skin of her jaw so tightly, she was sure that it would leave bruises.

"Don't think I'm that stupid, Arquen!"

He hissed into her ear, before licking all the way from her jaw up to the tip of her delicately pointed ear. Her eyes snapped open, as she felt his arousal press hard against her private parts. This was all too familiar.

"Please...Brother..."

She tried. A phrase she remembered too well from her youth. Her throat constricted. She had killed her family, in the hope to run from her memories and now her past caught up to her.

 _Maybe that's my punishment?_

She thought.

 _Night Mother please forgive me..._

"Don't ever try that psycho shit on me again!"

His voice brought her back to the present. She nodded, feeling her eyes getting watery as a wave of desperation and helplessness washed over her. He moved his hips, pressing harder at her entrance.

"Oh, I just can't wait to fuck you...sister!"

Without warning, he grabbed both of her nipples between thumb and index finger and twisted them around. She could not suppress a pained cry. And finally, the memory broke free

 _The weight of her uncle pressed her to the mattress. His breath reeked of alcohol and his body of sweat. His buried his head in her hair, panting in exhaustion, while pulling himself out of her. She hurt. Her whole body burned and she knew she was bleeding. She always bleed afterwards, but her family did not care. Her mother looked away and her father and brother were no different from her uncle. Finally he stood up and left without a word, leaving her behind in the silence of her room. She had stopped crying long ago. Slowly she sat up, rubbing her hand over her swollen belly. She was in her sixth month again. Her uncle had to disappear, she had to make sure. Again her hand rubbed over her belly. And then she would bury her child next to its brother near the kitchen door._

Pain brought her back. Mathieu bit into her shoulder, leaving a perfect set of teeth marks. Had he been talking to her? He lifted himself off and relieve flooded her. He did not hurt her. Not yet.

"I don't have time to play with you today."

He said in a casual tone of voice. Her eyes met his, and he smiled down at her cruelly. A slight frown appeared on her features while her eyes travelled down his still naked body and came to rest on the short riding whip.

"You've been bad Arquen. You killed an innocent brother. And you enjoyed it."

He whispered, coming closer towards her.

"You need to be punished."

Her eyes widened.

"No!"

She said in a flat tone of voice over and over until it turned into agonized screams. Bellamont unleashed his fury on her body. The whip bit into the tender flesh of her thighs, belly and chest until she was covered in marks. And yet he could not stop. Her screams and the sight and smell of blood excited him greatly. He hit her again and again with such force, blood spattered back at him. Bellamont laughed until his laugh became a surprised cry. His legs buckled as he climaxed and he fell forward, emptying his load onto her raw and bleeding belly. Arquen only whimpered, she had no strength left to cry out. Mathieu lay on her a moment panting, before he sat next to her. Arquen stared up at the ceiling, shivering from the pain. Her body felt like it was set on fire. Bellamont grabbed her chin again and forced the Altmer woman to look into his eyes.

"You better rest bitch."

He said coldly.

"When I return, I'll make sure you scream my name."

He stood wiping himself clean before putting his leather pants back on.

"Where are you going?"

Arquen dared to ask in a shaking voice. As much as she feared his presence and what he would do to her, the feared to be in the darkness alone more. Bellamont only grinned down at her coldly.

"I'm going to Bruma. You know I have no horse and I want to be there in time before Fredas."

He paused a moment, letting the information sink in, while adjusting his black robe on him.

"You know, that old fool Uvani should have been a little nicer to me while he could. Now I will make him suffer!"

Arquen could only shake her head in response. She was still shaking her head, even after Mathieu had left the fort. It was a form of silent protest. All she could do in her situation. The little strength she had left, she focused on healing her body. But the enchanted shackles made that nearly impossible as well. So she lay, shaking with pain and from the cold, helpless and despairing. A prey to her own dark thoughts and memories.

* * *

Alval Uvani hated Morndas. Not because he had to get up very early to make his journey from Leyawiin to Bravil. No. Even though he wasn't a young elf any more, he did not mind travelling that much, it was what he does after all. It was the city of Bravil that caused his disdain. It was nothing more than a stinking dirty hole.  
With his usual scowl, Alval Uvani entered the Loney Suitor's Lodge and took his usual room for the night, before getting himself something to eat. He heaved a little sigh as he finally settled down at the table. After walking the whole day, it was a relief to finally being able to sit down.

 _Maybe I should consider buying a horse_

He thought, sipping on his wine. He settled back in his chair, observing the crowd in the Inn. The usual thugs and lowlifes like in the most taverns he frequented.

 _Before I buy a horse, I might consider staying at better taverns. A clean and comfortable bed would be a relief for my back..._

Alval took another sip from his wine, slightly amused by his own thoughts. He lowered his glass to the table and narrowed his eyes, as something caught his attention. A little man in a dark cloak was coming his way. Alval's scowl deepened. Exactly what he needed now. Small talk. A sneer began to tug on his lips, while the man pulled his hood back.

"Uvani."

The Bosmer greeted him, taking his seat opposite the Dunmer. The angry scowl never left Alval's face, though he was surprised, to say the least.

"What can I do for you?"

He asked his tone all business. Ungolim took a quick glance around, before answering Uvani's question with one of his own.

"How do yo like your new assistant?"

The Dark Elf couldn't help but scoff, thinking about his new silencer.

"Not as efficient as Bellamont."

Was all he replied after a long pause filled with uncomfortable silence. Ungolim frowned.

"You doubt he can perform?"

"No. That's not it. I don't know. He's young..."

Ungolim nodded.

"So was Bellamont. And so were you once. Besides you didn't like Bellamont as well when he became your Silencer."

The Dunmer shrugged.

"Still I'd say, Alor is different. He smiles a little too much for my taste."

The Bosmer chuckled lightly.

"And there I thought all Dunmer were as grumpy as you."

Uvani glared at the Listener for a couple of heartbeats, before asking in a cold tone of voice.

"What do you want from me? I'm sure you're not here to insult me. Or ask for my Silencer."

The smile left the Bosmer's face.

"No, indeed I'm not."

Again he glanced around the bar room, but nobody seemed to take any interest in them.

"You think he can figure something out for me?"

That caught Uvani's attention and he raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Like what?"

"There's a member of the Fighters Guild that sparked my interest."

"The Fighters Guild? That bumbling, goblin hunting idiots?"

Uvani earned a stern glare from his Listener and fell silent, feeling that there was more to the story, than Ungolim admitted as of yet.

"I want him to investigate an Altmer warrior by the name of Caman Verhane. I want to know, where he lives, who his friends are and what he does outside the Guild."

Again the Listener paused.

"I hope you do understand that this is no contract. I don't want him killed."

Uvani nodded thoughtfully, taking another sip of his wine glass. His crimson eyes narrowed at his superior over the rim of his glass.

"May I ask why?"

"You may."

Ungolim sighed heavily, taking the glass from Uvani and poured himself a glass. He took a big sip before he finally looked into the Dunmer's eyes.

"That Altmer paid me a visit yesterday. He knew who I am...what I am."

Uvani's eyes widened a little.

"How could he have information about us? Do you think he worked for ..."

Ungolim shook his head before Alval had the chance to finished his sentence.

"No. He hinted, that Lachance was not the traitor and gave me this."

He held up a small book.

"Evidence, that he was indeed innocent."

Uvani leant forward.

"Well. That's just a little too late."

The Bosmer nodded.

"Yes. But he knew as well how Lachance had died. There must be a contact, giving him the information. I want to know who this is!"

Again Uvani nodded before pointing at the book.

"Any clues in there?"

Again the little mer shook his head.

"No. Only the ramblings of a madman. Plans to kill our Mother and his hatred towards Lucien."

Uvani stared at the book a moment in deep thought. He should have listened to his instincts. He had known, that something was not right about the whole affair. Lucien would have never been so careless to leave evidence behind, if he was indeed the traitor. But now it was too late and Lucien was dead.

"Get back to me as soon as you've got the information."

Ungolim's voice startled him out of his thoughts. The Bosmer stood up and pulled his hood up.

"I'll pay you well."

With that, the Listener left, leaving the his Speaker alone. Uvani sighed and emptied his wine, before he, too left the inn. He had to head back to contact his Silencer as soon as possible. He doubted that he could have slept any ways.


	18. Cheydinhal

**Chapter 18 – Cheydinhal**

It didn't take Uvani's Silencer long to track down Caman Verhane and follow him to his living place. That Altmer didn't seem to care about a thing in this world and sauntered through life, as if he owned all of Tamriel. Now Banus Alor lay in wait, keeping a close eye on the entrance of the remote cabin the Altmer had disappeared in. He wasn't sure how long he waited in the cold, but shortly after afternoon it had started to snow. The Dunmer assassin blew his breath into his hands. He was freezing and was getting impatient. So far, nothing had moved. The Altmer hadn't come out again and nothing had even come close the cabin. The only other living being he saw was an Imperial Legion Soldier riding past the Blue Road on his black warhorse. Banus sighed. This was a colossal waist of time.

 _Uvani will kill me if I don't bring him any information._

He thought, looking around the area for the umpteenth time. He shivered in the cold and again he had the feeling that he would gain nothing sitting around and doing nothing. He took a deep breath and stood up, finally abandoning his hiding place. He had chosen normal clothes over his leather armour and though he was soaked now, this might come in handy after all. He walked up to the cabin as casual as possible. At the door he paused a moment and again a shiver run down his back.

 _Dear Sithis, it has gotten cold the last hour._

He thought warily and knocked. Nothing happened, no one answered the door. Banus raised an eyebrow. Why wasn't Verhane opening? He had made sure, that there was only one entrance and he doubted the Altmer had crept out of a window. Besides he had been very careful not to be seen, he was sure the warrior hadn't noticed him following. Again he knocked, a bit louder this time and again he received no answer. Frowning he tried the door and found it unlocked. Banus paused a moment, pulling his dagger from the sheath, before entering.  
The inside of the cabin was surprisingly dark and it took the Dunmer a moment to let his eyes adjust. He wondered why Verhane had only lit two candles, when it was already gloomy outside. His frown only deepened as he got aware that the cabin was empty.

 _That's impossible_

He thought with surprise. He was sure, that the Altmer hadn't come out again. He would have noticed. He took a couple of steps into the cabin, looking for a trapdoor. Maybe there was a crawlspace or basement under the cabin. He bit his lower lip. This wasn't good. His grip on his dagger tightened, he felt like walking right into a trap.

 _Maybe Bloodhunt will do..._

He thought, but then froze to the spot as something cold and very sharp was pressed against his throat from behind.

"I would let go of that puny dagger if I were you."

He heard the smooth but chilling voice of Caman Verhane from behind. Shortly he wondered how a guy his size could move this quietly but as the knife pressed into his skin harder his own dagger clattered to the floor.

"Ah. Good boy!"

Caman cooed kicking the dagger away from the assassin.

"Now tell me. What the fuck you were doing in my cabin! Trying to rob me, asshole?"

Alor swallowed, thinking quickly.

"NO! No... I was...merely looking for shelter."

The tall elf behind him chuckled so coolly, it made Alor's hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Yeah right, with a drawn weapon! Don't take me for a bloody idiot!"

The Dunmer started to sweat. He needed to convince the Altmer whether to allow him to stay or to let him go. At the moment he would prefer that latter.

"I came in armed in case of bandits..."

He paused, trying to look over his shoulder.

"Are you a bandit? Please, you can have all my money, but just let me go. I wont tell the guards..."

"Shut up!"

Caman hissed, but made no further move.

"Yes ...yes .. I'm sorry."

Banus received a kick to the back of his knees, sending him to the ground, while the Altmer's hand grabbed his short hair painfully tight, pulling the head back. The knife returned to his throat.

"I said, stop yapping you dolt!"

The young elf looked up into cold green eyes. A brief moment of silence descended upon them, then Caman looked up.

"What do you think?"

Alor blinked, trying to see with whom Verhane was talking. A deep gravelly voice came out of the dark.

"I don't know. Get him up, that I can take a better look."

Metal scratched on metal as the knife was finally sheathed and then Banus was yanked back up to his feet again. Strong hands closed around his upper arms.

"Make no mistake you little fetcher, haven't killed asshole in a long time."

Caman warned the young elf. He only nodded and fixed his eyes on the person in front of him. Across he room stood another Dunmer with blood-red piercing eyes and a scowl on his tattooed face, that rivalled the one of his Speaker. He stooped down, picking up the discarded dagger, turning it over in his hand. Sorilkad fixed Banus with a long scrutinizing stare before he said:

"That's a fine dagger you've got there. Judging from your attire, it doesn't seem very fitting."

The Morrowind native Dunmer moved closer to Banus and light fell upon his robe. Banus swallowed involuntarily, recognizing the emblem on the mages' chest.

 _A Necromancer?_

he asked himself in slight shock.

 _Why would a warrior work with a Necromancer?_

Again his head was pulled back by his hair, causing him to wince a little in pain.

"What were you doing here?"

Caman asked, before letting the young mer's head go. Banus half turned.

"I was just looking for shelter. It's snowing outside and I'm still a long way from the next city."

He looked back at the Necromancer, who's eyes flickered over to the window.

"Please just let me go. You can keep the dagger if you want."

The scowl on Sorilkad deepened.

"How did you get it!"

Banus eyes widened a little, looking from the Dunmer back to the Altmer.

"I was given it by my father."

That wasn't a lie, he had received it as a bonus for a contract fulfilled. And wasn't a Speaker like a father to his Sanctuary?  
The Dark Elf took another step closer to the younger one, his lips tucked up in a half smile. For a moment Banus hoped his story had convinced the two mer, it was plausible enough. But then his hope was crushed by three simple words.

"I'm not convinced."

Alor's eyes widened a little more, trying to take a step back from the Dunmer sorcerer. Before he was able to react, Caman bend one of his arms onto his back, almost popping his shoulder out of it's socket, while pulling his head back by his chin. The Necromancer extended on arm, palm face up. It lit up with an eerily green glowing ball.

"Normally I use this spell on corpses."

He said with a cold smirk on his face.

"I always wondered what it would do on the living."

Banus tried to pull away, but Caman pulled his armlock only tighter, making him cry out in pain.  
With wide eyes he looked at the ball of green light, now only inches away from his face. There was no escaping this time.  
The door slammed open, causing the spell to fade away and both elves straighten up. Banus winced at Caman's sudden movement, but a second later, relieve flooded him as he saw an Imperial Soldier standing in the doorway. His dark eyes scanned the room looking from elf to elf.

"Is there a problem?"

He asked. Hope bloomed in Alor's chest. Those damn Imperials seemed to be good for something after all and the young Dunmer opened his mouth. Before he could get one word out however, Caman already answered.

"That dimwit snuck in."

"No! I only was in need of shelter. I meant no harm."

The Imperial Soldier stepped closer to the young mer, staring at Banus with such a cold stare, it made the his skin crawl.

"He's lying!"

The Imperial finally said, leaving Banus speechless.

 _How did he figure it out?_

The soldier glanced down at the dagger, that was still in Sorilkad's hand.

"He's an assassin."

Banus eyes went round with shock, before he was turned around by the Altmer. Caman grabbed the collar of the elf's shirt tight enough, it made his knuckles crack.

"My friend Tullius here said your are an assassin..."

The High Elf slowly lifted Banus up, until he struggled to stay on his toes and the collar bit into his throat making Banus cough.

"Tell me little Dunmer, are you a bloody assassin?"

Alor shook his head. Even though he was in a desperate situation, he would not betray the Dark Brotherhood. Caman lifted him higher, letting his feet dangle in the air, while the tight shirt collar began to constrict his throat even more.

"But my friend Tullius is always right about these things."

Banus hands clawed at Verhane's wrists, trying to pry himself free. When he had accepted this contract from Uvani, he never thought he would get this deep into trouble.

"I...no..."

He stammered, spots beginning to dance in front of his eyes.

"I could kill you S'wit. My friend needs bodies to work on. You'd be his thrall..."

"Caman!"

The Imperial hissed, stepping beside the tall mer, who hesitantly sat Alor down on his feet. The young mer gasped for air, and his knees shook slightly, yet he was happy to be released. As he looked up, his eyes were again met by the cold calculating gaze of the Imperial. A shiver ran down his spine. That was one creepy soldier.

"He's not here to kill, he was send for information."

He finally said in his low calm voice. The young assassin looked from the High Elf to the soldier and back. He never had found him in such a hopeless situation before and silently prayed to the Night Mother to help him.

"I guess my visit made someone nervous."

Caman said, grinning at the Imperial. Again these unnerving dark brown eyes stared into Banus' red ones.

 _How does he know? Is he reading my mind?_

Banus thought in slight panic. The need to get out of the situation was overwhelming by now. He was a trained assassin, how could he have let himself get into that kind of hopeless situation? He had fought stronger looking opponents, but with these three men, he's willpower seemed gone. He began to suspect, that one of them used a spell to drain his willpower. His train of thoughts was disrupted, as he felt fingers curl into his collar again. This time however it was not the Altmer, but the Imperial that grabbed him tightly pulling him close. The young Dunmer fixed his eyes to the man's face and for the first time he got a good glimpse on the details. That soldier seemed to be a veteran, judging of all the scars on his face. There was one thin angry line reaching from the corner of his mouth up almost to his ear, disappearing beneath the helmet. It almost looked like someone tried to enlarge his grin. Banus shook himself, as he realised that the Imperial had spoken to him. His grip tightened.

"Am I right?"

He hissed at Banus and all he could do was nod. A creepy smile appeared on the soldier's face.

"Well then, little assassin."

He almost purred in his velvety voice.

"Tell your friends, that Caman is under the protection of the Empire."

A pause and the hands on his collar disappeared, straightening out his shirt.

"I don't think you lot want to have Adamus Phillida on your doorstep, now do you?"

Inwardly Banus cringed at the name, but shook his head. He was sure, that Uvani would not like this kind of information. He felt, that he pretty much failed his Speaker. The Imperial Legion Soldier took a step back and put his hand on his Necromancer friend's shoulder.

"And now out before I change my mind!"

Banus scurried out of the cabin, the freezing temperature and snow far more welcome than the company of those three men. He ran all the way down to the ruins of Fort Urasek, where he had left his horse behind. Still shaking he pulled himself up into the saddle before he heaved a sigh. As much discomfort as those three had caused him, he feared Speaker Uvani a little more. He knew Uvani wasn't fond of him and he suspected that the mer would demote him for sure.

 _Better get it over with._

He thought, turning his horse towards the direction of Bruma. It was still a couple of hours till nightfall and he knew that Uvani was at Bruma every Fredas. If he rode fast he could make it there in time.

Inside the cabin, Sorilkad turned towards the soldier.

"Bold move! How did you know he was lying?"

The Imperial snorted.

"He was creeping around outside. Besides I know this dagger, belonged to a fellow Speaker once."

Sorilkad looked down at the fine ebony dagger and shook his head, a deep scowl on his face.

"Still...Lucien that was foolish. We had the situation under control."

Lucien chuckled darkly.

"So I have seen. You two scared the living daylights out of that poor guy. What kind of spell was that any ways."

Sorilkad grinned darkly.

"Oh it's called Wild Earwig. It causes a most uncomfortable noise inside the victim's mind. Seizures even..."

The Dark Elf paused, before continuing in a more serious tone of voice.

"What if he recognized you? Our whole advantage would be gone."

With a sigh, Lucien took his helmet off and shook his hair out.

"Well. He did not."

Caman frowned.

"You sure?"

"He would have reacted otherwise, if he had recognised me."

Lucien pulled his gauntlets of as well, putting them aside on a table, next to his helmet.

"This was non of my assassins. You see, Sanctuaries normally do not mingle to ensure the safety of the others, if one should fall. Only the Black Hand knows where all Sanctuaries are and have access to them all."

Sorilkad only shrugged at his friend, still a sour look on his face.

"And if he describes you to his Speaker?"

At this Lucien only laughed out loud.

"He can try, Sorilkad, he can try. I mean look at me! Nearly all legionnaires are Imperials and as much as it pains me to say, with all that metal around our faces we pretty much look the same."

Beside him the High Elf snorted in laughter, his hand landing heavy on Lucien's shoulder.

"I fucking love that guy! Can we keep him, Sorilkad?"

The Dunmer's scowl grew even deeper, his eyes looking from man to mer in disbelieve. Finally he whirled around and threw his hands up in frustration, hissing under his breath.

"Shein! Kivri!Hij! Neibahri os bahnirich asuhl das!"

Caman only laughed louder.

"You may stay sober, Soril. We need to relocate now that the Brotherhood knows where we are. The risk of them finding out about Lucien is too high."

Sorilkad nodded in thought.

"No!"

Both mer looked up, seeing Lucien lean against the mantelpiece, twisting his Blade of Woe in his hands.

"I'm done hiding! I'm done running! It's time to end Bellamont's career in the Brotherhood. Permanently!"

"You have a plan?"

Caman asked. Lucien fixed the tall mer with his cold gaze.

"Not yet. But it's time for Marsius Tullius to arrive at Cheydinhal. I will go and tend to my … duties. I need to know what is going on in Cheydinhal."

Caman turned towards the Imperial, arms crossed over his chest.

"And what are we supposed to do?"

"You are both members of local guilds. Arrive in Cheydinhal on your own, we will meet there at midnight in two days. Until then I hope to have some informations."

Caman nodded approvingly.

"Sounds good. Best you ride now. I will follow in two hours and Soril in four. Where do you want us to meet up?"

Lucien thought for a moment.

"Do you know the abandoned house next to the chapel? Let us meet up behind that house, but stay away from the well."

Again the mer nodded, watching while the Imperial put his helmet back on.  
Sorilkad's hand landed on his gauntlets however, before Lucien as able to grab them.  
"What ever you do, stay clear of your Sanctuary. Wait for us. Catch up to the latest rumours, but don't go in there. We will think of something less dangerous together. Are we clear?"

Lucien squinted his eyes.

"What do you have in mind?"

A small smile graced the Dunmer's lips.

"Oh this old Necromancer may have a couple of tricks up his sleeves as well. Just wait for us."

Lucien gave him a sharp nod and turned to the door. Before he was able to get out however, Caman called out.

"Hey, Cyrodiil! Make sure, no one sees you!"

A smirk appeared on the assassin's lips.

"I can avoid being seen. Can you?"

* * *

Night fell early in Bruma and Olav's Tap and Tack was already full of it's regulars. Alval Uvani suppressed a yawn and emptied his last glass of wine. The same lowlife scum as always, all scattered over the dining room, some of them making suspicious deals. The Dunmer knew of at least one trader that accepted stolen goods being a regular here. Tired, Uvani rubbed over his eyes. At least it was warm in here, though the heat slowly lulled him to sleep. It was time for him to retire any ways. He was tired from his days journey and tomorrow he would make his way down to Leyawiin. A long way that required for him to leave early in the morning. Again he suppressed a yawn and stood up. Without another word he made a beeline to his rented room. Olav briefly met Uvani's solemn gaze but the publican had learned a long time ago not to speak to this Dunmeri merchant.  
The key made a satisfying click in the lock and Alval was finally alone, locking the dull hum of the chatting crowd in the taproom out. Alval almost heaved a relieved sigh, he hated public places, he hated people in general and if not for the damn guards everywhere, he would blow everyone to smithereens who as much as said hello to him. His belt came off along with his dagger and landed on the small set of drawers next to him. His thoughts already turned towards Leyawiin and his duties that waited their. If everything went well enough, he would arrive there around midday of Sundas and hopefully find Alor waiting for him in his Sanctuary. And he hoped Alor had returned with the desired information.  
Alval's shirt went flying and landed on the chair next to the bed. A shiver ran down his back, causing him to rub his upper arms. Slowly he turned around, a deep frown on his face, red eyes searching the room. Nothing out of the ordinary, everything was exactly how it should be. Yet, he was not shivering because of the cold outside. Olav never let his fire burn down, so the rooms stayed comfortably warm.

 _People say they get chills when a ghost is around._

He thought, sitting down on his bed. He paused a moment.

 _Lucien always used this superstition to announce his arrival...have you now come back to haunt me?_

Alval shook his head, silent cursing himself, while unlacing his shoes.

 _Or maybe I'm just getting paranoid with my old age._

One shoe came off, soon followed by the other one.

 _No... not old age._

He corrected himself.

 _Something still isn't right in the family. I know it. And Ungolim is chasing ghosts instead of doing something useful. I wouldn't be surprised if that Verhane just was an informant of Lucien. As far as I know, he had one in every guild._

Another chill caused his hairs to stand on end and now he was feeling uncomfortable. Watched. Another look around the room, and yet nothing could be seen.

 _Speaking of ghosts..._

He thought, and was about to rise and summon a life detecting spell. Something however slammed into his chest, forcing him down on the bed and knocking the wind out of his lungs. A black clad man revealed himself, sitting on Alval's chest and pinning the Dark Elf's arms down next to his body with his knees. With a dark growl, Alval tried to struggle, tried to wriggle his arms free, but the man had caught him off guard.

"Surprise, Speaker Uvani!"

An all too familiar voice whispered. Uvani opened his mouth for an angry reply but before he even got one word out a bottle was shoved deep into his mouth. Uvani's eyes widened in horror as he realized what was pouring down his throat. He tried to repress his reflexes, but as soon as the mead hit the back of his tongue his swallow reflex set in and his body disobeyed his will. Alval already felt his hands and feet go stiff, muscles locked in place by painful cramps. The younger man grinned evilly.

"How do you like your mead? Here. Have another bottle!"

 _Oh no no NO!_

Alval screamed in his mind, as the second bottle emptied rapidly.

 _Too much!_

His thighs locked up. Painful cramps riled up his insides. His arms locked up so tightly it almost popped his elbows, then his neck and jaw followed until his ability to move was gone completely. He stared up at the ceiling as paralysis reached his eyes. The man got down his chest chuckling, while the Dunmer tried to suck in air. Uvani's whole body hurt, his joints forced into unnatural angles by the painful spasms. Even his insides felt like they were set on fire. He could feel his heart race and stumble in his chest, while it got increasingly hard for him to breath. Saliva accumulated in his mouth and not being able to swallow right it threatened to drown him. His eyes burned.

"Not so smug anymore, hm, Uvani?"

He heard the assassin say.

 _That voice... I know that voice_

Alval thought, but his panicked mind was not able to connect that voice to a fitting face. Rudely the man turned him over on his stomach, letting the saliva drain from his mouth. He gasped for air greedily. Again he was grabbed and pulled halfway out of the bed, his knees hitting the wooden floor hard enough to scrape them open. The man's hand trailed down his spine.

"You should have been nicer to me, Uvani."

Cold shivers of dark foreboding mixed with Alval's convulsions. Cold fingers hooked into the waistline of his pants and ripped them down in one bold move, exposing Alval's backside. His mind screamed and cursed in protest, yet his body was not his own any more. The mead had turned into poison inside of his system, causing painful seizures, Alval could not will away. Fabric rustled behind him, then a hard penis was shoved between his legs pressing against his own private parts uncomfortably.

"I would have simply sliced your throat."

The voice whispered into the mer's ear. The man rubbed himself against Alval, pressing his cock against the elf's entrance. Alval's stomach emptied, its content pooling beneath his face and sticking to his hair.

"But now I will have a little fun with you first. I always wondered how seizures felt from the inside."

Tears were now streaming out of Alval's eyes, while he vomited up bile. Smiling, Bellamont put his hands on Alval's shoulders.

"Too bad you can't scream. I love it when they scream."

He dug his fingernails into the Dunmer's back, pulling his hands down and leaving bloody marks all the way down to his bottom on each side of the spine. Bellamont wiped the blood away from Alval's back and coated his penis with a mixture of blood and spit, preparing himself to enter the other male.

"Prepare yourself. This will hurt."

Mathieu paused and Uvani could feel his hot breath on his neck and ear. Moments later, a sharp pain exploded in the tip of his delicately shaped ear, as Mathieu bit down hard on it. The Breton watched the crimson liquid run down the Dunmer's ear and cheek in excited delight. He bend down over the mer, rubbing himself against his backside in the process and licked the blood away from Alval's face. Again the elf's stomach cramped up painfully, his whole chest cramped up, making it even harder for him to breath. But Mathieu did not care about the mer's struggle. He entangled his fingers into the fiery hair and bend Uvani's head back in an uncomfortable angle.

"A lot."

He purred, rubbing more spit on his erection. He pressed it against the Dunmer, who desperately tried to conjure fire. But his agonized body was dying already. He could feel it. His vision got blurry and his lips had turned purple. With a bit of luck he would not have to endure this torture and humiliation long. Bellamont grabbed the mer's hip, steadying him, before positioning himself at the right angle. He was about to shove himself in completely as a sharp knock resounded from the door. Bellamont froze, looking at the door as if to will the person away. Had he been too loud and attracted the attention of the publican? His gaze turned towards the Dunmer again, who convulsed badly beneath him, breath turning shallow. Another knock and then a slight scratching noise.

"Fuck!"

Bellamont hissed, pulling his pants up in haste. The Dunmer slid from the bed and lay on the floor still twitching and eyes rolled back into his head.

"Looks like today is your lucky day."

Bellamont hissed and then was gone through the window. Alval Uvani did not hear those last words. Nothing mattered to him any more. The pain subsided and his twitching slowly stopped as life slipped from his body.

* * *

The ride from the cabin to Cheydinhal wasn't a long one, it took Lucien only about half an hour to arrive. Stabling his horse, he made his way over to the main gate. Passing through it he was greeted friendly by the guards. He gave them a courtesy nod and walked on with an uncomfortable feeling building up inside him. It felt strange coming to his hometown as a stranger.

 _Home..._

He wasn't so sure, if Cheydinhal really was his home after all that had happened. He could as well be on a suicide mission.

 _Am I really doing the right thing? The Night Mother still trusts me to save our family, but …_

He sighed. His family needed to be saved, that he was sure of. He just did not feel like a part of this family any longer. They had after all tried to kill him, and it was just through sheer luck, that he came out of it alive. He stopped in his tracks. He was so close. Just across the little bridge, a little further down the road. There it was. His Sanctuary. And yet he was isolated, forbidden to enter. Again, he thanked his Mother for sending Sorilkad and Caman. At least he wasn't alone.  
It was with a heavy heart that he finally reached the Castle Guard Barracks. The Captain of the Guards looked up and gave him a friendly smile. A slight frown appeared on Lucien's face. That was not the same guy, he saw a couple of month back. This one was younger, blonde and blue eyed and most of all no Breton. The young Imperial noticed Lucien's frown.

"I bet you've expected to meet Ulrich Leland here."

The older Imperial nodded.

"Well, Leland got retired early."

Was all the information he gave him, yet Lucien knew that retired meant, they replaced him for taking hefty fines. He shrugged it off. To be honest he did not care about the dealings of the Guards. His interests were darker and bloodier. He pulled out his transfer papers and handed them over with a slight bow.

"Marsius Tullius, at your service."

He introduced himself. The man took the papers from his hands and skimmed through the page.

"Garrus Darelliun."

He put the papers aside.

"So you were the one transferred from the City."

Lucien nodded.

"Yes, Sir."

That caused the other man to smile.

"Please you don't need to be so formal. This is not the Legion. You will find it to be a lot calmer and quiet here in the country side."

He gave Lucien a good look over.

"Well then, Tullius. First we need to get you out of that old armour and into the one of the Guards. You'll find it in a chest upstairs. Meet me down here when you're done and ready for a tour."

Lucien had hoped to be alone in the sleeping quarters, but as he reached the top of the stairs he was greeted by two of his fellow guards.

"Ah. A new face!"

A rather young man exclaimed, while the other, a senior guard with already greying hair remained quiet. They briefly exchanged names, then Lucien turned his back towards them and started to remove his old clothes and armour, the other men turned back to their conversation as he started to strip naked. He put his belongings into the chest by the bed, luckily he had left his black robe in one of the saddlebags with Shadowmere.

"Woah!"

He heard the young Imperial call out behind him.

"What happened to you?"

Lucien looked back over his shoulder, seeing the soldier stand almost directly behind him, studying his scars.

"Clannfear? Dremora? Deadra?"

Lucien rolled his eyes, before turning towards the young man. He knew, that his back was littered with angry red lines from his recent encounter. But so was his front. The guard gawked him.

"No..."

He said, thinking of something plausible, while trailing the long scar running from his collarbone down his sternum and under his left pectoral, where Arquen had wanted to carve his heart out.

"Just a random band of bandits. Jumped me on my way to the Imperial City. Got me good, but I managed."

"Hn. Criminal scum."

The old soldier huffed from where he sat across the room. The young man briefly turned towards him, before it exploded out of him.

"Awww. I wish I could be in the City as well. It is so boring out here. I want to do great deeds. Have epic adventures."

Lucien sighed, putting his new helmet on, carefully stuffing his hair underneath it.

"Careful what you wish for."

The veteran guard stood up and put his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Excuse him. It is his youth speaking."

The younger man drew breath but the old one held his hand up.

"You'll go out there, be on an adventure and then sooner or later you will get an arrow to the knee, just like me. And then you'll be back here."

Lucien chuckled lightly, while the young man raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"You've never got an arrow to the knee."

Lucien snorted and clapped the young man's shoulder, making his way to the staircase.

"He got married. Try to go on an adventure with a worried wife at home."

The assassin gave the old Imperial a thankful nod, before hurrying down the stairs. He wanted to have that tour over as soon as possible. There was nothing he could really learn from it though. This wasn't the first time, he posed as a city guard. He knew the basics, but he hoped to catch up on recent rumours.

"Ready for the tour?"

Lucien nodded and followed Garrus over to the castle. Silently he prayed, that they would not cross path with Count Indarys. He has had dealings with the Count in the past, especially concerning the abandoned house. But then again, the Count was of Dunmeri heritage and there was a chance that all Imperials looked the same to him. Especially the guards. They did not meet him however.  
After a quick tour of the castle, they went out to Cheydinhal, where he was shown around. Lucien faked interest in the various buildings. Past the Corbolo river over the small bridge, past the Chapel of Arcay and the abandoned house, before passing the river again. They crossed a little plaza with the Guild halls until they reached the main gate, where they agreed to head back.

"Now only the Dungeon is missing."

Garrus commented, while slowly walking through the streets. As they did a tall Altmer with flaming red hair came walking out of the Newlands Lodge and pushed past Lucien nearly knocking him over.

"N'chow! Doldi el! S'wit!"

He growled at the Imperial, before sauntering down the street.

"Homullus ex argilla et luto fictus!"

Lucien hissed through clenched teeth, but Garrus put his hand on his shoulder.

"Easy now. That guy's with the Fighters Guild. Always causing trouble, but usually doesn't stay long. They keep him busy most of the time. Just don't let yourself be provoked."

Lucien nodded and the returned to the barracks without another incident. The Dungeon could be entered right through the barracks, which they did. Lucien was shortly introduced to the jailor before they headed down to the cells. Most of the cells were empty except for two. In one a wealthy looking Breton man sat on his bed, but it was the other that caught Lucien's attention. He cocked his head to the side and stepped up to the heavy iron door.

"I thought this here was a quiet town,"

He said, causing the prisoner to look up.

"The prison seems rather full."

A sad smile appeared on Garrus face,

"Well. I told you, that we had to "retire" our former captain."

Lucien nodded, though his eyes were still fixed on the naked man chained to the wall so tightly, he was barely able to stand. Pale sunken in eyes, with large black circles beneath. His face and whole body looked haggard, shaggy hair hung in front of his face and his body was covered in sores and bruises.

"And this one? Any reason why he is not given a pair of pants at least?"

There was a long pause, but when Garrus spoke again, his voice was low and left no room for any further questions.

"That is a very dangerous man. It is for ours and his safety that he has no clothes. But he is not of your concern. And now come. You had a long day, I'm sure you want to rest now."

With that the blond Imperial turned and headed up the small hallway. Lucien lingered back, looking into the cell again. His brown eyes met hungry and very angry ones. Fangs bared in an angry snarl. Starved and weak and yet he was growling at the Imperial, an unspoken warning not to come any closer.

"Soon brother."

Lucien whispered, only loud enough for Vicente to hear and left, quickly following his superior.  
The growl died down in Vicente's throat and his head sunk back down on his chest. His throat was sore already and his constant hunger gnawed on his insides. Time had lost all meaning to him. Was he in here month or years now? He did not know. The count had ordered the guards to feed him once in a while, but only enough for him to stay alive. And then they would come to interrogate him again, asking the same questions over and over. He had just shut down. If only he could die. How long would they keep it up? This was more than only bodily torture. Indarys wanted to break him. And Vicente wasn't so sure, he could withstand the count's methods for long.

 _Soon brother._

Those words echoed in his minds. Those words, the voice. It sounded all too familiar. But Vicente knew this could not be.

 _I am going crazy._

He thought.

 _I am losing my mind. Start seeing things. This guard... no... it's just my mind playing tricks._

Vicente heaved another heavy sigh, retreating into the comfort of his memories.

* * *

Night fell and Fredas turned to Loredas when Banus Alor finally arrived in Bruma and went straight to Olav's Tap and Tack. It was shortly after midnight and the Dunmeri Silencer was surprised to see how many people were still out and about. But of course it was weekend and many used the day to drink and gossip before their work life returned on Morndas. If he had a normal job, he would do the same. Smiling he turned and made his way down to the separate room. He hadn't seen Uvani in the bar room so he assumed his Speaker already retired. Behind him, the chitchat of the customers still buzzed in his ear, they did not even have the slightest idea who or what was in their tavern with them. He took a deep breath. Still he felt like he had fail his Speaker miserably. With another deep calming breath he gathered the courage to knock on the door. No answer. Was Uvani already asleep? He knocked again and received no answer again. But just as he was about to turn away, his sensitive elven ears picked up sounds coming from the room. Movement, and something that sounded like wheezing. A frown appeared on his face. Something wasn't right. He could feel it. A moment of hesitation, then he pulled out his lock pics and started to open the door. It took him a moment, in which more concerning noises came from the room. A dull thud and someone cursing under his breath. And then the lock clicked and the door opened. It was then, Banus realised, that he hadn't had a weapon any more, but Uvani had made sure, his assassins all had some basic knowledge in destructive magic. With his hands aflame he charged in, yet the magic died away instantly at the scene in front of his eyes. There was a huge deep red stain on the bed, more red on the floor and his Speaker laying naked and lifeless on the ground. Alor quickly closed the door and knelt by Uvani's side. He scanned his body for wounds, but found only a couple of scratches on his back. Nothing that would explain the stain of red on the bed. He touched the liquid with his fingers. Not the consistence of blood, and not the smell either. It smelled sour. And then it clicked. He bend down to Uvani again, touching to fingers to his neck. He was still warm and there was a pulse. Faint and very rapid, but still there.

 _Poison!_

It shot thought his head.

 _He has been poisoned!_

Frantically he searched his little travelling bag. Out of habit he always carried healing potions with him.

 _I'm too late...I'm too late_

He thought again and again, while forcing Uvani's mouth open and a cure poison potion down his throat.

 _Please don't throw up... please..._

The young Dunmer put his ear to Uvani's chest, listening intently. There a heartbeat. And another. And a shallow breath. He was fighting. Alor pressed his palms against his eyes, feeling absolutely helpless. He had lost most of his family as a young boy. He saw his father die, succumbing to a disease that ate at his insides. When he got into the Brotherhood, he was happy to have a new family with a lot of new brothers and sisters. And someone he looked up to like to a father. He would not let him die this time. He grabbed Uvani under his arms and pushed him up into a sitting position, before he sat down behind his Speaker. He circled the arms around Uvani's chest, keeping a secure hold on him.

 _What has happened here?_

The young Silencer asked himself, looking around again. Part of Uvani's clothes was on a chair, but his pants were still around his ankles. And those scratches on his back, a bite mark on his ear...

 _Dear Sithis! Was he forced upon?_

It came to his mind like a slap in his face. He wasn't even aware that his eyes started watering, as there was only one prominent thought in his head.

 _I failed. Everyone._

He buried his face in Uvani's hair, shutting the world out.

Uvani only very slowly got aware of his surroundings. His body still burned and ached, his throat still felt constricted, but he could breathe. He lay still a moment, his eyes closed and just let the warmth from behind seep into his cold body.

 _Warmth?_

He asked himself. There was something warm and soft behind him, pressing against his burning back. With surprise he opened his eyes. Or at least he tried to open them, but was only able to crack them open a little. Most of his muscles still would not obey his will. He sat on the floor, with a set of legs on each side of his own. For a moment panic flooded him, thinking Bellamont was still having his way with him. But these legs would not fit. They were too long to belong to Bellamont. His gaze wandered down. A pair of arms circled his chest, like he was a giant doll. The exposed skin on these arms was of a dark blue tone. It was then, he got aware of being rocked back and forth very gently, while softly being spoken to. He wanted to protest, wanted to wriggle free, but was only able to draw a shaky breath in. He turned his head slightly, getting aware that it rested against the other males chin. Again his first instinct was to protest and to scold the other man. He hated being so close to another being, but the warmth and rhythmic movement lulled his exhausted body back to sleep.  
It took him another half an hour to finally wake up and actually being able to move. He moaned groggily, trying to set up, but the embrace he was in only tightened.

"Speaker Uvani?"

He heard the soft voice of Banus Alor next to him. He nodded, not yet strong enough to produce words. Silently Alval cursed his damn allergy to honey. This would nearly have killed him. One arm disappeared, rummaging around somewhere of to his side. Then a small green flask was pressed against his lips.

"Here. Please drink this. It will make you feel better."

A small pause.

"It's a cure poison potion."

Alval obeyed, swallowing the bitter tasting liquid, but as he did, he could feel his body relax and strength return back to his limps. A few minutes later he was able to sit on his own. Banus disappeared from behind him, standing next to the door, half turned away, to give his Speaker a little space. Uvani ran his hands over his face.

 _I need a bath..._

He thought, carefully standing up on still shaky, sore legs and pulled his pants up. He turned towards his Silencer, who seemed pretty shaken up by himself.

 _Has he fought with Bellamont?_

Uvani tried to get the events back together, but his memory was getting foggy from the moment Bellamont had bitten him.

"Alor, what are you doing here?"

The young Dunmer looked at the ground, shrugging helplessly.

"I...I thought you wanted..."

Alor stammered, his gaze flickering over to the red stain on the bed, then back to his Speaker and to the ground again. Uvani's trademark scowl had already returned to his face, making Banus feel a lot more uncomfortable than he already was. Uvani sighed, filling a bowl with water and heating it with magic.

"That's wine. Go on."

He said, before starting to wash his face off. His ear stung, but at least there was nothing missing. Bruised and bloody, but that'll heal. Banus scratched the back of his head.

"I followed Verhane to his home."

Uvani straightened a little, watching his Silencer closely.

 _He's hiding something._

He thought but said.

"Good. What did you find out?"

Banus sighed.

"Not much. He lives in a cottage on the Blue Road."

Again, Uvani turned, rubbing his chest dry.

"That's all? Come on Alor. Do I really have to tear every answer out of you?"

Alor shook his head.

"He... is working with a Dunmer Necromancer and an Imperial Legion Soldier."

"What?"

Uvani turned in surprise, getting a glimpse of Alor's gaze flickering away from him in shame.

"Alor! Dammit! Spit it out already!"

The young Dunmer cringed and took a deep breath.

"I was... They caught me. I really thought I wouldn't make it. But at least I got a good glance on them. Verhane. Tall guy with red hair and definitely a warrior. He was able to lift me off my feet completely. The Dunmer is typical Ashlander. Have of his head shaved, long black hair."

The frown on Uvani's face deepened.

"And red face markings?"

Alor nodded, a surprised look on his face.

"Yes. How do you know?"

Alval shrugged.

"I think I have seen him before. In Leyawiin. He's part of the Mage's Guild. Can't remember his name though."

"Mage's guild? That man is a Necromancer. He even threatened to use his magic on me. He was creepy, let me tell you."

Uvani nodded, putting his shirt back on.

"And the soldier?"

Alor did not answer, which caused the Speaker to turn. His Silencer looked at the ground, hands twisting in front of him. Uvani's frown deepened even more.

"He..."

Alor started, remembering the cold stare that seemed to look right into his soul.

"I don't know what is up with the soldier, but he was the most creepy of them. He had intense eyes and I think he read my mind."

The older mer crossed his arms over his chest.

"How come?"

Alor shrugged.

"He looked at me and knew I was an assassin. And he knew I was sent for information only."

Again the young Dunmer paused.

"His name is Tullius. A middle-aged man, with a prominent scar on his face."

Uvani shook his head, that did not ring a bell. Not at all. And again he had to wonder, what kind of friends Lachance had.

"He had a message for you."

Alval's head snapped up.

"He said, that Verhane was under the Empire's protection and that you should stop investigating or he would tip off Phillida."

The older elf growled.

"Phillida! That doesn't make any sense. Why should Lachance work with Phillida?"

"Because he was the traitor?"

Alor provided at what Uvani scoffed. Alor's gaze travelled to the ground again, like a kid awaiting a mouth full.

"Speaker Uvani. I can understand you may want to replace me now."

That came out of nowhere and stopped Uvani's train of thoughts. He turned, his eyebrows raised in question.

"And why should I?"

Banus shoulders slumped.

"Because I failed. I've got myself captured and nearly killed ...and I lost my dagger."

The Speaker heaved a sigh and pointed to a chair.

"Sit!"

Banus obeyed, folding his hands in his lab and looking to the ground as if he waited for his execution. Alval Uvani looked long at his Silencer.

 _Maybe I was wrong about him after all._

He thought while he was reminded of another young Dunmer.

"You did not fail me, Banus."

Banus head snapped up and he opened his mouth but was stopped by Alval who held up his hands.

"No buts Alor! You did what I asked you for. You gathered information and even a good description of those men. A dagger can be replaced, a good Silencer is harder to come by."

He paused, tilting his head to the side. Alor looked miserable in his presence, when he actually should be proud of himself. Slowly he walked over and put his hand on the young mer's shoulder.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Banus."

The elf looked up and met his Speaker's gaze.

"Your quick thinking and initiative saved my life."

Banus Alor nodded slightly, his gaze wandering over to the red stain.

"I thought you were dead. And I nearly walked away, but heard something … suspicious."

He paused, pressing his eyes shut for a moment, again having the picture of a lifeless Uvani in front of his inner eyes. Without thinking he jumped up and hugged the older elf tightly.

"You are like a father to me. To our Sanctuary. A very strict father, but...if I had been here in time, he wouldn't have done... things to you...I'm..."

His words died down in his throat, as he felt his back patted by a warm hand.

"It's alright Banus. Would you calm down already!"

Banus nodded, hastily letting go of his Speaker.

"You... you were poisoned... and forced..."

He said after a long moment of awkward silence. Uvani nodded.

"I was. And no he didn't force himself on me! But now I know the traitor's true identity!"

Interest sparked in the eyes of the young Dunmer, while Uvani fastened his belt around his hips.

"Come on Alor! We are going to Cheydinhal. NOW!"

Alor turned.

"We? Why?"

"The traitor is in Cheydinhal!"

Alval held his hands out to his side, finally letting his anger flow freely. Angry blue flames appeared in the palms of his hands as he growled.

"I'll rip his face clean off and hang it on my wall as a trophy. That little bastard!"

Banus took a step back at the sudden outburst of his Speaker.

"What if he waits for you?"

Alval huffed, the flames slowly dying.

"Unlikely! He thinks I'm dead. And now he will suffer. This time, I can fight back. And I will kill him!"

Moments later, two dark figures crept through Bruma's silent streets and out of the main gate. Cheydinhal wasn't far, Bellamont wasn't safe.


	19. Isolation

**Chapter 19 - Isolation**

Loredas went by slowly and quietly as ever and turned into Sundas. It was then, that Bellamont finally returned to his Sanctuary. The long way from Bruma to Cheydinhal had managed to calm himself down greatly. Oh he had been so angry, when he had to flee Uvani's little tavern room. He had been so close to utterly humiliate his former Speaker. But at least he knew that this accursed Dunmer was dead. There was no coming back from that.

 _Two down and when Arquen and Ungolim are dead too, the remainder of the Black Hand will have no choice than to evoke the ancient ritual of waking the Night Mother. And then it will be my time to shine._

He thought, slowly making his way through the sleepy streets of the city. His goal was the abandoned house, that everybody else in the city seemed to ignore. Townsfolk said, the abandoned house was haunted, that the family, that had lived there a long time ago had been murdered and now their ghosts would kill anybody who dared to enter. Someone had even written a play on that. He paused in front of the house looking up to the boarded up windows. Normally he would have laughed at such nonsense, but an uneasy feeling had come over him. Like eyes watching his every move. Eyes that belonged to the shadows. A chill ran down his spine. Yet the house, as sinister as it looked, was the same as ever. Carefully he made his way over to the well in its backyard. No soul around and yet this place felt crowded. And the feeling of being watched only got stronger. He let his gaze wander around once more. Tried to look deep into the shadows surrounding the yard, but wasn't able to see anything.

 _The ghosts are out tonight._

He mused, remembering how his mother had told him ghost stories when he was a little kid. How they would cause the body to chill up, when they were around. He chuckled.

 _Stupid tales._

He unlocked the heavy iron gate covering the well and took a deep breath. He needed to be calm and focused for what he was about to do. Without another look around, he climbed down into the well.  
He did not notice the dark shape moving on the houses roof. A black robed figure, that jumped down into the yard as soon as Bellamont had disappeared, and walk over to the well. For a moment, the man just stared down the entrance, ignoring the eerily red glowing dots in the shadows of the house. Moments later another tall, dark-clad figure emerged from the shadows.

"By the look on your face, that was the one you were looking for."

Lucien turned by the sound of Sorilkad's dark and gravelly voice.

"Yes. It was."

The Imperial almost spat in a bitter tone of voice. Sorilkad walked up to his friend, hands hidden in the long sleeves of his robe. The dark colours of his robe faded so very well into the shadows, yet Lucien was surprised to see Sorilkad walk around with the tell tale emblem of the Worm Cult displayed so openly.

"And it took really a lot of self-control not to jump down after him and kill that bastard."

Lucien hissed, his gaze wandering to the well entrance again. Sorilkad nodded and pointed to the well.

"If I remember correctly you told us to stay away from there. And yet here we are, so very close. Don't you think we should move into the shadows? Just in case someone comes out?"

Lucien sighed, yet followed his friend into the shadows again. There the Dunmer turned.

"Did you catch up to the latest events here in town?"

The Imperial nodded with a sour expression.

"One of my assassins, a close friend of mine, got captured by the guards and is now held and tortured in prison."

To Lucien's surprise the Dark Elf nodded yet again.

"The Vampire. I've heard. Rumours have it, that someone tipped off the guards."

Lucien's gaze hardened and wandered over to the secret entrance to his sanctuary.

"Bellamont!"

He spat.

"I need to know, what he's planning down there. And I need to know it now."

He turned fully towards the well, but a warm hand landed on his shoulder. The gaze of cold brown eyes met with blood red ones.

"Don't worry."

Sorilkad said in a calm voice.

"You'll get to know as soon as Caman is here."

A low chuckle came out of the shadows.

"Than you can start my dear Sorilkad."

Both men turned to the Altmer, who stepped out of the shadows and walked over to them with a big grin. Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"Look at that. You actually can be sneaky."

Caman's grin widened.

"I can do a lot of things you don't know about."

He paused, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"So! What's the fucking plan?"

Lucien took a deep breath.

"I'll try to sneak in..."

"NO!"

He was cut off by Sorilkad's growl. The assassin looked at the Dunmer with a scolding look. Sorilkad held his hands out to the sides.

"That's too dangerous. If you get caught it's over. For all, they know you are still a traitor."

He paused, looking from mer to man.

"They would not hesitate to kill you. But tell me, Lucien, does this sanctuary have a Dark Guardian? Like the ones you had wandering around Fort Farragut?"

Lucien's eyebrows wandered up on his forehead.

"Yes...Why?"

Sorilkad's gaze briefly met Caman's who already had a knowing smile on his face.

"Caman, I may be in need of your strength later on. The spell surely will leave me drained."

The smaller mer said calmly, to which Caman nodded.

"Always, Soril."

The Dunmer took a deep breath, then knelt on the ground, still well within the shadows. He ran his hands over the short grass.

"You two keep an eye out for guards. But what ever you do, don't break my spell!"

Both men nodded, tense with anticipation. Sorilkad leaned forward until his forehead touched the cold ground. He started mumbling something in his low grumbling voice. Words so alien, they did not make sense to Caman or Lucien. And then his body seemed to cramp up, going rigid. A heartbeat he stayed this way before suddenly straightening up, head thrown back. His face was void of any expression, just a blank stare with wide eyes. But his red pupils were gone, replaced by an eerie green glow.

* * *

Mathieu walked into the living area looking around his Sanctuary. Everything seemed in order so far. But he wasn't here to make sure everything was quiet. No, he was here for one of the assassins in particular. He had noticed how Antionetta Marie had isolated herself from the family in the last few weeks. His well placed lies and little intrigues had taken effect sooner than he hoped and estranged her to a point where she was actively avoiding the others. She, who always had such a desire to be noticed and climb the ranks was now an outsider. And now he felt she was ready for what he had in mind for her.  
Bellamont walked by the latest recruit, a Dunmer with eerily light coloured eyes and dark skin. He did not like that mer at all and an involuntary shiver ran down his spine. He couldn't say where his dislike came from. Maybe it was, because Lucien had brought him into this family. Or maybe it was because of those freaky eyes. He couldn't say, but he would make sure, to take those eyes out first, before killing him.  
Ghost stopped and turned, watching his Speaker disappear into the training area. He was weary of this Breton, he didn't like the vibes he gave off. And he could tell, that Bellamont did not like him either. Ghost shrugged and turned to the sleeping area. And nearly ran into the Dark Guardian who was walking down the hallway. Ghost scratched the back of his head. That skeleton was just weird and he asked himself for the umpteenth time, with what purpose the undead moved. Now it seemed to follow Speaker Bellamont. A smile appeared on Ghost's face.

 _Looks like the Guardian doesn't trust you either._

He thought, before disappearing into the dormitory.

Bellamont had finally found Marie. She had hid herself away in the kitchen, like so often these days. She sat on the table, head in her hand and drew invisible patterns on the table with the other one. She looked up, as she saw movement out of the corner of her eyes and a small shy smile graced her lips as soon as she recognised her Speaker.

"Speaker Bellamont."

She greeted him, almost nervously brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Bellamont inclined his head slightly.

"Antionetta. I was looking for you."

He paused and smiled down at the slender blonde woman.

"I wanted to talk to you. In private. Please join me at my quarters."

Her cheeks got a rosy complexion as blood shot into her head.

"Yes...Yes, of course. Just give me a moment."

Bellamont gave her a small smile.

"Fine then,"

He said, before adding with a more seductive tone

"Just don't let me wait too long, little Antionetta."

A short while later, Marie entered her Speaker's private quarters and as she did the Dark Guardian followed her in, shuffling around the room before he finally stopped and stood still, facing the back of the room. Bellamont raised an eyebrow as he stood and closed the doors, watching the skeleton warily. He wasn't very fond of the Guardian, it crept him out, but he knew that it was here ever since he could remember and it would be unwise to attack it. Or get rid of it. That only would raise unwanted questions. He sat down on the edge his desk, shrugging the uncomfortable feeling the skeleton gave him off and turned his attention to the Breton female. She had washed herself, made her hair and even applied a little mascara. Smiling he stood again and closed their distance. Leaning in close, he took a strand of her golden hair in his hand and inhaled deeply.

"You smell nice."

He purred into her ear, causing her to giggle shyly. Still smiling, he stepped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging her neck. He could feel her tenseness resolve.

"You know, I would really like to spend more time with you."

He smirked, as he heard her gasp softly.

"I'm flattered, my Speaker."

His hands wandered up her neck to the base of his skull and he could feel her lean into the touch. His smile widened, he had her exactly where he wanted.

"What's wrong with this Sanctuary?"

He finally asked, breaking their contact. Almost startled, she blinked a couple of times, before searching his gaze.

"What do you mean?"

She asked in an unsure voice. Bellamont sighed dramatically.

"I did not fail to notice how the others treat you. They try to push you out of the family."

Her blue eyes started to water and she wrung her hands in front of her chest.

"I was so shocked. No one ever told me about my cooking. They could have told me."

The Speaker nodded solemnly.

"They lied to you, knowing it would hurt your feelings. But that's not the only aspect they lied to you. They pretty much want you out."

The young woman looked up in shock.

"Out? But why?"

Again he turned towards her, lifting her chin with one hand.

"Isn't that obvious, my sweet Antionetta? They are afraid of your skills."

He paused a moment, studying her face.

"Ocheeva very well knows that you'll outrank her someday and take over the Sanctuary. Teinaava is loyal to his sister. And Telaendril is jealous. She noticed, how you impress men. She's afraid you might take the Orc for yourself. And she is jealous that I, the Speaker, fancy you above all others."

Again Marie could feel the blood rush towards her face and she looked away in embarrassment. Mathieu curved his lips up into a sinister smile. She was ready.

"Antionetta. Look at me."

She obeyed, big round eyes meeting his cold blue gaze. Gently he cubbed her cheek with one hand and almost immediately she leaned into his touch. He bend down and touched his lips to hers. She froze for a heartbeat, before melting into his embrace, kissing him back with a longing passion. As they broke for air, Mathieu whispered.

"I said, I would like to spend more time with you."

She gave him a happy smile, her arms sill around his necks and her hands gently playing with his light brown curls. The Breton pulled her closer, pressing her against his body both possessively and protectively.

"I would like to make you my Silencer."

His free hand traced her jawline, her cheek and then travelled through her golden hair.

"You and I. We could live together. Travel together."

Again he lifted her chin.

"Would you like that?"

Smiling she nodded and rewarded him with another long passionate kiss. He was close now. So close to achieving his goal and Mathieu knew that he had to be very careful now.

"You would outrank Ocheeva then."

He suggested.

"I would like that very much."

She whispered. Mathieu smiled and pulled her close to him, letting her head rest against his chest. The young woman stayed this for a while, contend in the safety of his arms, the warmth of his body and the soothing rhythm of his heart. And for the first time in the last few weeks, she felt good again. Felt accepted and wanted.

"What about contracts?"

She asked after a long period, where the two Bretons just stood in the silence of a loving embrace.

"Only the finest."

He whispered, burying his face into her hair. She bend her head to the side a little inviting him to nuzzle her neck. He kissed his way down her neck and softly bit her shoulder, before he finally brought a little distance between them to look deeply into her eyes.

"Actually I have a contract entrusted to me by the Black Hand itself."

There was a spark of curiosity in her eyes, which made him smile.

"A contract I would only entrust to my best. To you."

He paused and finally let her go. Moving over to his desk, he motioned her to sit down opposite of him. She sat down, still flushed and with her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

 _Am I dreaming this? Please, don't let this be a dream._

She thought, fidgeting with her fingers in her lab. She had always hoped to get her Speaker's attention. True, she had always hoped it would be Lucien to give her such affection. She had always viewed him as her saviour. But now he was gone and to be honest, Mathieu was a handsome young man. And he had a real interest in her. She would do anything to please him, to keep his attention. Bellamont produced a scroll and held it up.

"This."

He waved the scroll around a little.

"Does not come easily to me. But, it seems like we still have to deal with the repercussions of Lachance's betrayal. It seems like he has not been working alone."

He made another dramatic pause, watching her closely. She was still hanging on his lips like a good little puppy.

"I was ordered to do the ancient ritual of a Purification."

Marie's eyes widened in shock. Behind them, the skeleton guardian turned around and walked up to him. The gaze of his empty eyesockets seemed to fix on the pair of Bretons as if he understood what Purification meant. Bellamont sighed.

"Normally, a Speaker tasked with the Purification would see to it, that everyone in the Sanctuary was send to the Void. No survivor. You however, are above all suspicion. As I said, I have watched you and the other closely."

Antionetta nodded as understanding dawned on her. Her Speaker. Her lover? Had just saved her from a dark fate. And he even wanted her to perform the ritual.

"What shall I do?"  
She asked sternly and with grim determination. Bellamont almost laughed out loud but was able to hide his glee behind a mask of calmness.

"Then listen very closely, my dear. I want you to cook for them tomorrow. Something everyone would eat. A stew."

The blonde female nodded.

"Good. I want you to lace this stew with this powder. Make sure it dissolves completely."

He handed her a small bottle with a fine white substance in it.

"It's a powerful sleep-inducing drug. Once they are all asleep drag them out into the hall and bind them tightly. Don't kill them, however. I want to have a word with all of them before we kill them off together."

The Speaker reached over the table and grabbed her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"Do you think you can do that for me, my Silencer?"

He paused and added with his most charming smile

"My love."

She bit her lips, considering all she just has heard. To kill every member was...harsh. But the Black Hand deemed it necessary.

 _Who am I to question the Black Hand._

She asked herself before looking up. With a deep breath, she said.

"I will do as you command, my Speaker."

Bellamont rose.

"Splendid! Prepare the meal in the evening."

He rounded the table and pulled her up to him by her hands, before kissing her deeply. Her arms circled around his neck and she pressed her body against his. She wanted to feel him, wanted him to confirm that she was doing the right thing. His hands roamed down over her back until they rested on her waist. There he pushed her away gently.

"I fear I must take my leave now, my love. The Black Hand calls me."

Her gaze dropped to the floor, yet she nodded and stepped away from him. He pressed a quick kiss against her forehead and shushed her out of his room. Bellamont's smile faded as soon as she closed the door behind her.

"Stupid bitch."

He hissed and turned around, almost running into the Dark Guardian standing directly in front of him.

"What are you looking at?"

He snapped at the undead, though knowing that he would not get an answer. The skeleton seemed to glare back at him through unseeing eyes and a cold shiver ran down the Breton's spine. He shook himself

"Nasty little creature."

And stepped around the guardian and behind his desk, locking the fake Purification order away. He would not want little Antionetta find it accidentally and inform the other members of his little scheme. He missed the skeleton's hands curl into tight fists.

"Speaking of nasty..."

Bellamont muttered, leaning back in his seat.

"Arquen is still waiting in Fort Farragut. She will be thrilled to learn of the recent events."

The Dark Guardian's body slumped forward a bit, causing Bellamont to raise an eyebrow, but then it resumed to shuffle around the room, just like it always had. The Speaker dismissed the odd behaviour and rubbed his hands over his eyes. He was exhausted from the long journey.

* * *

"Stupid bitch!"

Sorilkad said in his low and hoarse voice, his eyes still wide and glowing green, his posture upright and rigid. Lucien turned towards the well, his face red with anger

"I'll kill him!"

He growled deeply drawing his dagger. After what he just had heard, he was so furious, he did not care about any plans. All he wanted, was to slice the traitorous Breton in many little pieces. Wanted to protect his family, spare them the torture he had to endure. But before he was able to reach the well, a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder and yanked him around. Blind with rage, his reflexes kicked in and he threw his arm out, aiming for the others heart. His movement was sudden and quick, but Caman acted on his own reflexes. He grabbed the man's wrist with one hand and turned the blade over Lucien's thumb disarming him, before sending the Imperial to the ground with a jab to the face. With an angry glow in his eyes he grabbed Lucien by the collar of his robe and pulled him up again.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

He hissed. Lucien spat a mixture of blood and saliva and shoved the Altmer back.

"He will kill them all!"

Caman shrugged.

"Are you dead up from the neck? You can't stomp in there like the sodding Imperial Legion! Last I checked, you were labelled a fucking traitor!"

Still angry, Lucien picked his dagger up again, his fist around the handle so tight, his knuckles turned white. The elf sighed.

"Look. We know of his plan. He will not act now."

Lucien's raised an eyebrow.

"And?"

"And fucking calm down! Or I'll knock you out!"

Behind them, they heard Sorilkad mutter something about Fort Farragut and then the green glow left his eyes. With a gasp, the Dunmer's body went limp and collapsed to the ground. Lucien and Caman turned, staring at the mer, who lay in the dirt face down.

"Soril!"

Caman whispered and was by his friend's side in a heartbeat, carefully turning him around. Sorilkad was out cold, sweaty hair clung to his forehead, his breath laboured. The High Elf scooped the mage up in his arms as if he was a child.

"We need somewhere to hide!"

He hissed at the Imperial, who stood still frozen to the spot.

"Quickly!"

Lucien glanced over to the well a last time, before motioning the Altmer to follow him. Bellamont would leave the Sanctuary in the next couple of moments, but Lucien hoped he would go through the well. He knew it was a gamble to hide in the abandoned house, but they had no other way to go. Even the laziest guard would come running if he caught a glimpse of them. An unconscious Necromancer, a tall redhaired warrior and a man in black robes were far from inconspicuous. The Imperial glanced around quickly the dark and empty roads, before he ushered the Altmer inside. They hurried up the staircase, past the ruined fireplace and up the second staircase into the attic room. Caman gently place his Dunmeri friend in the small turret with the broken window and drew his dagger.

"What's wrong with Sorilkad?"

Lucien asked, honest concern written all over his features. Caman drew breath, but as he was about to retort, they heard a door slam shut on the ground level. Both men's eyes widened a little.

"Stay with Soril! Keep him quiet!"

Caman whispered and moved over to the balcony overlooking the fireplace. Lucien nodded grimly and with his Blade of Woe drawn, he knelt down beside the passed out friend. Caman's sensitive ears picked up light footsteps moving around the ground level. And then they heard the creaking of stairs, as the person slowly moved up the wooden flight of stairs. Caman pressed himself against the wall, watching a man with a black robe coming up the stairs and walking past the fireplace. They heard him rummage around in a drawer below their attic room. Again, the High Elf glanced over to the Imperial and shot him a warning glare. As much as Lucien wanted to sneak down and kill Bellamont he understood the Altmer's silent warning. It was not his time yet. At that moment Sorilkad woke up and started to moan. Lucien hastily pressed his hand over Sorilkad's mouth. The Dunmer's eyes snapped open, but he was too weak to struggle. His gaze met with Lucien's and the assassin pressed his index finger against his lips and the Dunmer nodded. Carefully the assassin retracted his hand and looked over to the Altmer. The noises downstairs had stopped and Caman was quite alarmed. He was so tense, that his hand with the dagger shook slightly. Downstairs the movement started up again and Caman caught glimps of the man again as he walked over to the fireplace. Now he was dressed with common clothes. Cold blue eyes briefly looked up the staircase, as Mathieu hesitated to leave. He wasn't sure if he had heard something. Caman held his breath, pressing himself against the wall even more. And then the Breton went down to the ground level. Neither man dared to move, while they heard the front door open and shut. Slowly Lucien rose but Caman motioned him to stay put. Silently the Altmer moved down to the lower level, before he crouched down and looked over to front door. The ground level was empty, yet he wasn't sure. It could be a trick after all.

"He left."

A voice came directly from behind him and made the Altmer jump. He hadn't heard Lucien come down the stairs as well. He glared down at the Imperial.

"I saw him walk away through the window."

Caman nodded and walked past the assassin and knelt by Sorilkad's side. The Dunmer was seated against a wall.

"The fuck Sorilkad!"

Caman hissed, forcing the Dunmer to look into his eyes. Sorilkad opened his eyes and glared at his friend.

"Told you I would need your strength."

The Altmer frowned.

"That bloody spell knocked you out cold!"

Without warning, he pulled the Dunmer into a tight hug.

"Stop scaring the crap out of me!"

"Don't worry, I won't kill myself!"

Their gazes locked for a couple of heartbeats, a deep understanding in both of them. Both had always viewed the other as a brother. Caman gave him a good look over, his hands heavy on the Dunmer's shoulders to steady him.

"Can you walk?"

Sorilkad shrugged.

"I can try."

The Altmer held his hands out to the smaller mer and helped him up but as soon as Sorilkad stood up, he swayed and stumbled. Caman caught his friend before he fell and held him steady.

"That's no good, Sorilkad! I'll carry you back to your guild!"

At the balcony, Lucien turned with raised eyebrows and pointed at Sorilkad's chest.

"Like that? They have him hanged ere morning!"

The Altmer followed Lucien's index finger to the emblem on the Dunmer's chest.

"B'vek! Those fucking laws against necromancy!"

Caman hissed, biting his lips with a grim expression. But then his green eyes lit up, as his gaze fell upon the assassin.

"You! Cyrodiil! Undress!"

Lucien crossed his arms in front of his chest, yet remained silent, unmoving. Caman rolled his eyes.

"Get the fuck out of your robe!"

"I have heard you the first time!"

"And?"

Lucien sighed and opened the laces of his overgarment. His garment was of simple black colour, no markings on it at all. Something he needed to get from town to town without raising suspicion. He tossed it over to the Altmer who carefully dressed his Dunmeri friend with it, before scooping Sorilkad up in his arms. On his way down he yelled up to the Imperial:

"We meet up tomorrow evening at the Newland's Lodge."

Moment's later the front door slammed shut, leaving Lucien alone in the attic room. Alone with his troubled thoughts. He watched the mer walk over the long bridge and disappear in the night, before he too went downstairs. He needed rest, but most of all he needed a plan for tomorrow.

* * *

Arquen awoke by a slap to her face. Her eyes snapped open and met the cold gaze of Bellamont.

"Missed me bitch?"

He hissed, slapping her again. Her lip broke open and blood ran down her chin. Mathieu smiled and licked the red liquid from her features, before he held a cub of water against her lips.

"Here. Drink. You'll need your strength."

His tone of voice had turned almost caring. Arquen gulped the stale water down in greedy sips. She had been bound and alone for almost a week now. A week without food nor water. The Breton changed the cub with a bowl.

"Here. A broth. We don't want to eat something heavy on an empty stomach, now do we?"

Arquen almost burned her lips on the hot soup, but starved as she was, she did not care. After she had eaten and Bellamont had put the bowls away, he sat down on her bed side.

"Please Mathieu. Untie me."

She said, her voice weak and hoarse. Her wrists and ankles were raw and infected by now. A smile appeared on Bellamont's face and he shook his head with a sad sigh.

"You know, I can't do that."

The Speaker paused and unbuttoned his shirt. Arquen sank back into her pillow, closing her eyes. She knew deep down, that she would die here. That nobody would come to aid her. She had come to accept that this was her punishment for murdering an innocent brother. She sighed, then remembered something.

"What did you do to Alval?"

The young man chuckled.

"Aww look at you. All chained up and yet you want to know about his fate. That's sweet Arquen."

He stopped again and looked her over, letting his hand trace over her curves. She shivered and tried to wriggle her body away. He grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed it hard enough to make her eyes water.

"Very well. I ambushed him in his room and made him drink mead. A lot of mead."

Arquen's eyes widened a little. She knew of Uvani's allergy to honey. Knew that it would paralyse him and even kill him if the dose was right.

"You know, I really enjoyed seeing him. His body convulsing and wriggling like a fat maggot. I really wanted to shove my cock up his ass."

His gaze met hers.

"I was actually pretty angry, that I didn't have the chance to fuck him."

He smiled down at her with an eerie glow in his eyes.

"But you. You can't run away. And nobody will disturb us."

He unlaced his pants and pulled them down, revealing to the Altmer woman, that he already was excited. Bellamont climbed atop of her, pressing his body against hers. Arquen hissed in pain, her wounds from his whipping had not yet healed and she was bruised all over. Bellamont kissed her roughly, forcing his tongue deep down into her mouth, while his fingers clamped around her lower jaw, to prevent her from biting him. She gasped as she felt his erection press against her entrance.

"Please don't."

She whimpered, her voice flat. The slap came out of nowhere, her head flew to the side and for a moment stars danced in front of her vision.

"Shut it bitch. If you wanna cry, cry my name!"

She stared up at him.

"And you can start now."

Mathieu purred. Arquen's eyes widened, as she understood what he meant. He shoved his full length into her without hesitation. She bit her lips so hard, she drew blood, to keep herself from crying out. The Breton pulled himself out and smiled widely, as he saw that he was coated in blood already. He bend over her, licking her ear and biting into her neck.

"Don't be so quiet, dear sister."

He whispered, biting her again, deeply. And this time she did cry out. Smiling, he shoved himself into her again, beginning to pound her mercilessly. A tear started running down her cheeks and Bellamont's face began to blur. And then it was gone altogether, replaced by a memory from long ago.

 _Arquen was still young, even for an elf. In human years she would be no older than 15. But that didn't stop her uncle from molesting her. It had started with a gentle touch here and there. Then he had pulled her down to sit in his lab. And sometimes she could feel a hard bulge there. She had tried to tell her mother, had tried to tell her father. But they wouldn't hear it. And then her uncle moved in with them and her torture started. He would drag her to his chambers every other day and fondle her. Had sex her. Rough merciless sex, that made her always ach afterwards. She did not like it and begged him to stop, but he always told her that it was ok. That he loved her. And if her crying was to much for him to handle, he would gag her. Like this time. He was a heavy set man. Too heavy for an Altmer male with a pronounced belly and a breath reeking of alcohol. His chunky fingers were all over her as he pounded her in a fast paced rhythm. Kissed and licked her, while she had the urge to take a long bath. She had learned a long time ago to just lay still and let it happen, he would stop eventually. And she would not be too bruised and hurt afterwards. He let out a highpitched squeak as he came into her, only to collapse and nearly smother her under his weight. Soon after he rolled over and began to snore softly. Arquen sat up in bed, looking down at her uncle. He was a lot smaller than her father and not so muscular as well. Her gaze went over to his pants and the discarded belt. Slowly she got out of bed and knelt down, weighing the belt in her hand. Would she be able to strangle him? He grunted in his sleep and turned around. She looked down at his naked from full of disdain and disgust. She let go of the belt, it was not her time yet, she was not strong enough. But her time would come. Quietly she slipped out of his room and down to the small creek running nearby. She needed to wash his filth away from him._

Her lower body burned like fire, as Bellamont pulled out of her and climbed out of bed. He didn't even bother to wipe her blood away from him, while he filled his glass with fine wine. He sat down in a chair, legs spread apart widely for her to see his manhood. He took a big sip and leaned back, pulling his sweaty hair out of his face. Arquen kept staring at the ceiling. Bellamont frowned, she seemed not quite here. He emptied his glass and walked over to a basin filled with water out of a well. He filled a bucked and dowsed her upper body with the chilling cold water. Arquen gasped in shock, pulling on her chains.

"You didn't scream my name."

Bellamont said coldly staring down at her with his gruel blue eyes. She looked up at him, her eyes red and watery.

"I'm sorry..."

She whispered, her voice void of any emotion. Bellamont smiled, touching himself.

"You will learn."

Was all he said, before he returned to his table and poured himself another glass. He tilted his head to the side, regarding her.

"What is on your mind, dear Arquen."

A tear ran down her cheek.

"Nothing."

His gaze lingered on her, while he drank his wine in silence. He drank the whole bottle, ere he returned to her bedside. There he sat down and almost gently stroked her cheek.

"My dear sister. Soon I will be the only thing you'll have in mind. I promise."

His voice sounded gentle, but she knew, that he did not mean well. Mathieu bent down and started kissing her. She did not resist, she just let it happen. The Breton frowned. He liked it more when they struggled.

 _Maybe she needs a good spanking first._

He thought, a delighted gleam in his eyes and stood up to retrieve his belt. As the hard leather hit her chest, she let out a pained shriek. Then another one and another one, until her body burned and ached and her mind fled into the sanctuary of her shattered mind.

 _She did not know what happened to her. Over a couple of month her belly started to swell. It got bigger and rounder and after nine month, she felt so heavy, she barely could perform her chores. She tried to speak with her mother, but she did not listen. She tried to get around her chores but her father would have non of it. And her uncle did not stop to have sex with her, even if it hurt her. And then one evening she got cramps. Unbearable cramps, that only would get stronger and stronger. In her desperation, she went down to the small river and sat in the icy cold water, hoping her cramps would go away. And then it felt like something popped inside of her and her cramps would come in shorter intervals. Out of instinct she started to press. The pain so strong, she thought she would die. But the pain passed, and she delivered a healthy boy. Long she sat by the stream, holding the infant in her arm, staring into the void. She didn't know she had been pregnant. No one had told her what changes she was going through. Nobody in her family seemed to care, they just locked her away, so no one else would see her. The baby struggled in her arms and cried. It was a boy. Finally she looked down at him. Chubby pink face, little fingers curled and uncurled into tiny fists. And startling blue eyes. He looked nothing like her uncle and yet she knew he was his offspring. A tear rolled out of her eye, while she pressed her hand over nose and mouth of the baby boy. It didn't take him long to start struggling. She buried him next to the well where the green lily grew amongst the bushes._

Bellamont threw the belt away as his aching cock begged for release. Hastily he climbed onto the bed and shoving himself all the way up in her. He liked the way she shivered and wriggled from the pain. Her cries were music to his ears. He started to move, fast as first, but as he neared his release he slowed down.

"You know, tomorrow will be a great day."

He told her, moving with a delicate pace. Her eyes regained focus at the sound of his voice. She looked into his eyes, a mixture of pain and confusion written all over her features. He thrust his hips forward with a pleasured moan.

"Tomorrow, everyone in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary will die."

He explained further, picking up the pace a little. A smile tugged at his lips, as her eyes widened in shock.

"A … spy of mine will poison them. Bind them. And then they are ripe for the plucking."

He snickered.

"And I can promise you, I will torture each of them."

She looked at him with bewilderment.

"Why?"

She asked. Bellamont bent down and licked her cheek and ear. His thrust now became more frantic again. His breath was laboured and sweat dripped down onto her face.

"Because I will extinguish the Dark Brotherhood."

He bit his lips and moaned. And then he climaxed biting deep into the tender flesh of her breast. But Arquen didn't feel the pain any more. Her whole body was in agony. Her flesh raw, bleeding and bruised. Inside and outside. Finally Bellamont was finished for the day, climbing down and washing himself up. He dressed with a light linen shirt, bending down to her and giving her a rough kiss on her bleeding swollen lip.

"Sleep well dear sister."

With that, he was gone. But Arquen did not hear him. She was already back into her own world, haunted by her memories.


	20. Prelude to madness

**Chapter 20: Prelude to madness**

Antionetta sighed and stared at the bottle containing the white powder. She had always dreamt of climbing through the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood. But now she wasn't so sure if she really wanted it. Not this way. She had been welcomed into the family, when she was barely more than a teen, abused and close to death. She owed Lucien Lachance her life. And she could not deny that Ocheeva had always been like a mother to her. Giving advise and comfort whenever needed, but strict on other occasions. Again she sighed and poured the powder into the bubbling brew. Things had gone sour though, there was no denying it. Lucien was dead and gone and the others have grown cold.

 _Purification. Such a nice word for such an ugly deed._

She thought, stirring the stew. A lone tear trailed a hot path down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away with her sleeve. She was a trained assassin with no room for feelings. A contract was a contract. That's what she was taught. She should be grateful to be tasked with the contract, grateful to be saved by him. And yet she felt bad about it.  
The door opened and closed behind her and a moment later Ghost peaked over her shoulder.

"Damn that smells good. What is it?"

She turned towards the young Dunmer, regarding him with an unsure look. Half of his face was hidden behind his white chin-length hair, but the smile he displayed seemed genuine.

"Shepherd's stew."

She answered shyly, causing Ghost to tilt his head to the side. He leaned on the kitchen counter.

"Something bothering you?"

Antionetta bit her lower lips.

 _Oh nothing. I'm only about to drug and kill you..._

she thought but then took a deep breath forcing her voice to sound stable.

"I'm a little anxious, honestly. I know, I'm not the best cook so I really, really took some effort with the stew."

She paused.

"It would be nice if we all eat together. Like in the old days."

Ghost straightened and scratched the back of his head.

"Yeah. I really felt bad for you. Bellamont is such a mean guy."

He paused and before she could say anything, he smiled.

"I'll get the others. This smells too good to let it go to waste."

As soon as he was out of the door Antionetta looked at the stew again, a deep frown on her face. Was she doing the right thing? She could hear commotion in the hall. It was too late now anyway.

* * *

Not far away from the Sanctuary, near the main gate of Cheydinhal stood the Newland's Lodge. An inn that was mostly frequented by Dunmer and had its reputation for quite violent bar fights. And the bar on the ground level was always full. This evening seemed no exception. Around the bar, a crowd of loud, drunken mer had gathered and at the tables, cheerful conversations buzzed through the room. In a dark corner, an Imperial sat, half hidden by shadows. His brown eyes wandered over the crowd in the room with a trained caution, that made clear he was used to observing his surroundings. And while his eyes wandered through the room constantly, they seemed to linger on the door the longest.  
Shortly after dusk, a grim looking Dunmer entered the inn. He paused a moment observing the taproom before he made his way over to the dark corner the Imperial sat in. And while the Dunmer carried himself with the dignity of a mage, the Altmer that followed closely behind him, sauntered into the bar, as if he owned the place.

"Verhane!"

A Dunmer with brown windswept hair exclaimed from the counter and jumped up from his seat.

"You!"

Without warning he charged at the warrior, but Caman put his flat hand against the smaller man's forehead holding him on arm length away.

"Sod off, S'wit."

Caman said coolly, shoving the mer back with such force, he fell in front of Sorilkad. Caman bent down a little, giving the young man a glare, that promised pain.

"Os evven'ton ohn ghar ohm alma rath!"

Caman growled, scaring the young mer enough that he tried to scramble away, nearly knocking the mage over. The Dunmer looked up into Sorilkad's face and his eyes widened.

"Sorry."

He mumbled and hurried out of the inn. Caman laughed deeply making his way over to the table.

"I see you have quite the reputation."

Lucien commented dryly, as both mer had finally settled down. The warrior chuckled light heartedly.

"Better a bad one than none at all."

He paused and looked at his companion with a mischievous smile.

"But with Sorilkad... well just look at his face. I would run too."

The Imperial assassin sighed and turned towards the Dunmer.

"How are you feeling Sorilkad?"

The mage smiled and shoved a bundle of black cloth over the table.

"Well rested. Haven't done that kind of spell in ages. Getting to sleep in a nice warm bed helped to restore my magicka as well."

The mage paused with a proud look on his features.

"I guess you have thought about a strategy by now? What are you going to do?"

Lucien nodded slowly.

"Yes I have. But I need the help of you both."

Caman took a sip of his beer.

"Well, who would have thought..."

His amused smile faded as he was regarded with stern looks from both of his friends. He put his mug down and held up his hands, showing them his palms.

"Fine, fine. I'm listening!"

Lucien took a deep breath.

"He scheduled my family for execution this night. I cannot allow that. I will stop him and if it's the last thing I do."

Caman smiled.

"You know, you sound a little like my superior...and if it's the last thing I do. Damn you guys are so dramatic. I'd say we go in there and rip that fucking bastard apart!"

"Caman!"

Sorilkad said sharply, shutting his friend up with an unspoken warning in his voice.

"Let him talk. I'm sure he has something more sophisticated on his mind, than ripping that fucking bastard apart."

Lucien's gaze darkened while he folded his fingertips together in front of his face.

"Caman actually has the right idea. I will go down there and I will take him out. In front of all others if need be."

The Imperial paused a moment before adding with a voice so cold it could freeze Oblivion over.

"And I will kill anyone who dares to interfere."

A moment of silence hung over the three men, while they stared at each other with grim expression. But then a big smile appeared on Caman's face.

"What happened to fucking family all of a sudden? Doesn't daddy like his kids anymore?"

The assassin glared into the Altmer's light green eyes.

"I love them, but only so far. Who sides with the traitor is a traitor. And has to be eliminated!"

"That's harsh!"

Lucien laughed dryly.

"No, Sorilkad. That's how things are."

The warrior nodded.

"Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I would react the same way. Those who cross me, die. Horribly."

Caman leaned in close, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"Now. Let's go hunting!"

The Imperial straightened.

"No. I go alone."

"You are fucking kidding me! You promised me blood, assassin!"

Caman's eyes had darkened to almost a mossy green.

"Make no mistake, Altmer! Bellamont is mine!"

The redhead leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Fuck you, Cyrodiil!"

The Dunmer mage held his hand up, to silence his friend.

"But there is more, right, Lucien. You have planned something for us too."

The assassin nodded.

"Indeed I have."

He stated his tone now all professional. The three men stuck her heads together and discussed their grim tasks, while the life around them continued bustling.

* * *

Antionetta pushed one sweaty blond strand of hair out of her face with a shaking hand. In front of her were the still unconscious members of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Her family. Somehow she had imagined that fulfilling the deed would fill her with pride. It was after all a direct contract of the Black Hand, a special contract she had waited for so long now. But it did not fill her with pride at all, not even with satisfaction. No. It was a deep feeling of shame and an odd fear that had filled the young woman. Was it really right? Did she really want them to die? She didn't know. Doubt had filled her the moment she walked out of Bellamont's room. The slight feeling had developed into a growling beast gnawing away on her conscience. She looked around nervously. Bellamont had not yet appeared in the Sanctuary. There was still time to untie them. Still, time to make amends. Another look around. She was alone. The Dark Guardian was locked away in the storage room and the Sanctuary was eerily silent. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

"What have I done?"

She whispered.

"Yes Antionetta. What have you done!"

The young Breton shrieked at the unexpected answer to her question. She turned to stare into the angry, orange eyes of Ocheeva. The mistress of the Sanctuary had come around the sedative and it was only now, that Antionetta noticed that she must have been awake for a while now. Must have studied her and felt her insecurity.

"I... I only..."

The Breton began to stammer, while more family members opened their eyes and glared down at her. Ocheeva's gaze was unrelenting and Antionetta felt like she shrunk back to a little kid under her scrutinizing gaze.

"I'm listening!"

The Argonian hissed. The young woman could feel tears brim up in her eyes and she took an involuntary step backwards. Her gaze wandered frantically from face to face, trying to find something in her friends eyes. Something that would give her the courage to untie them, to apologize and hug them. But all she saw in their eyes was anger and disappointment. Her gaze again found Ocheeva's face. The Argonian female had a sour look on her face.

"Antionetta! You really should...!

"You really should consider gagging your victims."

The young Breton woman jumped and turned around. Behind her, Bellamont slowly made his way over to them. With a cold look in his eyes, that promised pain and suffering he walked past Marie and lifted Ocheeva's chin a bit.

"Don't be angry Ocheeva, poor little Antionetta was only doing what I told her."

Bellamont whispered into the Argonian's ear with a sweet yet emotionless voice. Ocheeva's eyes widened and suddenly she could hear Vicente's voice in her mind again.

 _"Mark my words, Ocheeva. If Bellamont stays here, we are all doomed. It's just a matter of time until our members here start dying."_

With a sudden rush of nervousness her split tongue slipped out of her mouth to taste the air. All she got from Bellamont however was satisfaction and the tinge of arousal

"Vicente was right."

She whispered.

"It was you all along."

A cruel smile appeared on the young man's face, that let his eyes sparkle like blue ice, while he patted her cheek before straightening up. With a bright smile he turned towards Antionetta, who had backed away to a pillar, her face distorted with her inner turmoil. The Breton man walked up to her and gently cupped her face.

"You did good."

He pressed a rough kiss on her lips, which Antionetta did not enjoy. She had craved to get her Speaker's approval and now that she had it, she found that she could not enjoy it. She didn't even want it, instead she just felt miserable. Bellamont pulled her away from the pillar and in front of him.

"Come my Silencer and look at them."

Antionetta's eyes briefly met Ocheeva's gaze, but the young woman quickly cast her eyes down. She could not bear keeping eye contact, could not bear to see the resentment in her eyes and the pain of betrayal. A slight shiver ran down her spine, as she felt Bellamont's presence behind her back. His hands landed heavy on her shoulders, slowly wandering towards her neck. She tried to relax, while his thumbs slowly massaged her tense neck muscles, his body pressed against hers.

"A purification."

He purred, his breath hot against her ear.

"A sacred ritual, only performed twice in the Brotherhood entire history."

A tear escaped her eye and left a hot trail down her cheek. Her gaze was still focused on the ground as if there was something of utmost interest. To kill the only family that ever cared for her, did not feel very sacred. His hands left her shoulders, but he did not move away from her.

"It's really a pity, that you wont stick around to witness the sacred act."

He whispered into her ear. Antionetta's eyes widened in alarm.

* * *

Night had fallen over Cheydinhal and a lone figure climbed the steep hill to Castle Cheydinhal. The slender mage dressed in dark robes moved silently like a shadow amongst the shadows, grim red eyes piercing through the veil of darkness. A smirk appeared on Sorilkad's face, while he glanced around the yard. There was no soul in sight making his task so much easier, yet the mage kept close to the wall until he reached the entrance to the castle barracks. With another careful look around, he stepped out of the high wall's shadow. The light of the twin moons hit him and in the pale silvery light, his eyes had an eerie glow, while the red emblem on his robe took on the colour of blood. Sorilkad took a deep breath and cast Cloak, a chameleon spell upon himself, before making his way up the steps to the barrack door. A foreboding silence greeted him upon entering the dimly light hall. He cocked his head to the side and listened intently. To his left, a staircase led to the tower's upper floor and his sensitive ears picked up the light snoring from several men. An evil grin appeared on his face and he climbed the staircase as silent as a ghost. The round room contained several beds, but only in five of them were members of the city guard, sound asleep. The smell of alcohol and body odour met him. Carefully he walked from bed to bed, making sure, that every single man was indeed deeply asleep, before letting go of his spell. He worked better without it, besides he needed as much of his magicka for his later plans. For a brief moment, he stared down at the guard in the first bed, playing with his small golden lip ring, like he so often used to do when thinking things through, while pulling Lourgih, his enchanted glass dagger out of his robes folds. The Imperial was barely a man, surely still eager to go on great adventures. But the young man's adventurous spirit left his body, while Sorilkad's dagger left an angry red line on the boy's throat. He never woke up. Neither did the next three men. The last guard was an older man with already greying hair. He turned around and stirred in his sleep just as the Necromancer stepped up to his bed. He blinked and opened his eyes to a small slit, looking right into Sorilkad's face, who smiled down at him wickedly. But then his eyes snapped fully open and his mind to attention, as a warm hand pressed down on his mouth and nose. Panic shone brightly in the guard's eyes and he tried to fight of the Dunmer, only to find that he had been paralysed. Sorilkad's eyes glinted with a morbid fascination while he watched the light in the Imperial's eyes diminish and finally die out. He straightened and took his sweet time to clean his dagger on the white bed sheet, inhaling deeply the metallic smell of freshly shed blood. He had entered a state of inner calmness, a state of mind that would aid him greatly. Securing his beloved weapon to his belt again, he returned to the veteran. His eyes lit up with a green glow, as did his hands. The green glow that engulfed his slender fingers grew and flowed down over the dead Imperial's body. Sorilkad murmured words under his breath and seconds later the man's eyes snapped open.

The jailor, a middle aged man by the name of Cassius Pupius looked up, as he heard the doorknob rattle. Seconds later an older guard with greyish hair walked into his small room, having a Dunmeri prisoner with him. He smiled, greeting his fellow guard.

"Flavius! Aren't you supposed to be off duty by now?"

The older man turned his gaze towards Cassius but remained silent. He just stared at the man with a blank expression. A slight frown appeared on Cassius face, taking a closer look at the senior guard. He didn't look too well. His complexion was pale and he had reddish circles under his eyes.

"Damn Flavius, you look like you need some rest."

He said, his voice concerned, but earned yet another blank stare. Cassius rose, stepping around his desk to take a closer look at the Dunmer, who had his hands bound behind his back.

"Who do we have here."

He said, more to himself than to the Dunmer. Flavius Concessus gave the Dunmer a hard shove between his shoulder blades, making him stumble forwards.

"Needs to go to the dungeon. Caught him sneaking around upstairs with a drawn dagger."

Cassius narrowed his eyes on the Dunmer. He was a tall and slender elf, with a very grim expression that was only enhanced by the red tattoos adorning the left half of the face. The Imperial's gaze travelled down and over the mages robe. His eyes widened a little in surprise.

"A necromancer? Here in Cheydinhal?"

His gaze met Flavius' blank stare.

"What's your name, criminal scum!"

The Dunmer bowed his head slightly.

"Sorilkad Malur, at your service."

The Imperial huffed.

"I'm sure we don't need your service."

Cassius pulled the heavy keychain from his belt.

"Come, Flavius. There's a nice cell waiting for that guy."

The senior guard nodded and gave Sorilkad another shove, while Cassius turned to open the door, missing the evil grin that tugged on Sorilkad's lips.

* * *

Caman looked up at the jagged tower of Fort Farragut, a black shadow against the dark nightsky and let out a deep sigh. He had seen this kind of ruin a lot since he moved to Cyrodiil. Standard hideout for necromancers and bandits, not to forget about the hordes of vampires, zombies and skeletons populating abandoned forts.

"Looks like I can add fucking assassins to the list."

He muttered and drew his twin elven blades. Knowing that he would go into a ruin, he had opted to leave Rokav his big claymore behind. He was a lot more agile with two swords and he had the nagging feeling that he would need them. With a grim expression he pulled the heavy double door open and entered. It fell shut behind him, leaving him in the dark for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit hall. Carefully he followed the hallway, that bend to the left and rolled his eyes.

"Skeletons... sodding stinking skeletons..."

He muttered under his breath as the telltale creaking of bones reached his sensitive ears. Moments later he could hear the shuffling of bony feet over the stone floor as well. Judging from the echo, there was a big hall in front of him. He made his way down a flight of seven stairs and was faced with an iron grit. He found a lever to his right and pulled it, retreating into the shadows, the grip on his swordhandles tight. Nothing happened. The undead did not care about the portcullis going up. Caman edged closer to the entrance and took a look around. The hall was lit by eerie blue fire, but at least he could make out some details. To his right was a closed door, while on the opposite of him was the continuation of the hallway he was in. The middle of the hall was dominated by a high bridge with braziers on each side containing the blue fire. He pulled the stud of his tongue piercing between his teeth. There was one skeleton archer on top of the bridge and one blocking the entrance to the tunnel.

"Fuck! There just had to be a fucking archer!"

He hissed, slowly reaching for the little sharp dagger hidden in his boot. Carefully he took aim and threw the dagger. The sharp blade hissed through the air, rotating around before embedding itself deeply into the archer's skull. The undead crumbled down into a heap of dust and centuries old bones.

"You owe me one, Lucien..."

He thought with a wicked grin while sneaking into the hall. He kept to the wall, walking a great bow around the skeleton hero patrolling near the tunnel. It never knew what hit him, as a sharp elven blade sliced through his vertebrae like they were made out of butter. Caman sheathed his swords and smiled down at his work, noticing the leather armour they undead wore.

"And stay dead assassin."

He said, walking into the tunnel. His gaze fell upon small holes in the wall and he immediately stopped dead in his tracks.

"Ah fuck it!"

He cursed in annoyance while taking a couple of steps back. Taking a deep breath he ran for the tunnel, jumped into a somersault and rolled up on the far end of the tunnel, nearly hitting the wall. He could hear the arrow trap unload its darts into the wall and he straightened his armour out while the dust settled again. The tall Altmer proceeded with more care, following the bending tunnel down. There was another small flight of stairs opening into a little room with one big pillar in the middle. Another archer was moving around that pillar. Caman growled and charged at the undead. It didn't get the chance to put an arrow on the string. Caman's double swords quickly sliced it into three pieces. The room forked into a tunnel to his left. In front of him, he noticed trip wires spanned across the floor about ankle high.

"Looks like someone is a little paranoid."

Caman said with a wide grin plastered over his features, while looting the chest at the foot of the pillar. Despite this being a Dark Brotherhood hideout this ruin was unremarkable so far. Caman had been in worse. He turned left into the tunnel and hopped over a hole with ease, before taking a peek down. Sharp metallic spikes were erected several feet below, causing the mer to shake his head. This seemed to be a lot of trouble to enter and leave on a regular basis.

"Crazy Cyrodiil..."

He muttered, while following the bending natural tunnel until it led him into another hallway, that was filled with the cold light of a blue fire. His vision was obscured by a ghostly glowing mist that reached up to the middle of his thigh. He hadn't noticed the Dark Guardian until it attacked him. Caman raised his defence blade, blocking the skeleton's sword with ease while stabbing the other one forwards. It pierced through the guardian's armour and sternum. With a quick pull and turn, Caman pulled his blade free and decapitated the undead with the other one, before he walked on, coming to another portcullis. This one too was opened by a lever.  
Sheathing his swords he entered the dimly light room with caution. To his left was a big desk, made out of oak wood. Scrolls were stagged on it as well as in the shelves lining the walls on either side of the desk. Curious Caman looked around Lucien's private quarters until his gaze fell upon the rope ladder hanging down from a secret entrance high above his head. His hands curled into tight fists.

"Oh fuck off, Lucien you sodding asshole!"

He hissed angrily, realising that the Imperial could have spared him all the trouble of sneaking through the ruin.  
The angry glare did not leave his face, while he walked on, passing more shelves filled with books and the occasional skull, a small table with alchemistical tools and a barrel with a big lock on it. Caman rolled his eyes, shaking his head. And then he saw the bed. A sturdy wooden bed with chains attached to each post and a naked woman on top of it. Caman drew his dagger with a smirl.

"Well, well, I smell assassin bitch."

* * *

Antionetta wanted to turn around but a leather strap closed around her throat and pulled tight. Panic stricken she grabbed for the thin rope around her neck and tried to suck air in while freeing herself. Behind her Bellamont chuckled evilly. He had the strap in a tight grasp, holding it tight enough to render her helpless but not yet so tight to kill her. Not yet.

"Did you really think I would spare you stupid bitch?"

He said, excitement filling him. Antionetta groaned and coughed but was not able to get a word out. Bellamont straightened a bit, casting his gaze upon the mistress of the Sanctuary.

"Yes Ocheeva. It was me all along. I killed Boudicca and framed your precious Lucien. I killed him. That proud asshole. You should have seen the look on his face, while he was trying to keep his guts from spilling out. I set up Vicente and killed Speaker Uvani. And now I'm going to kill you! All of you!"

He underlined his light spoken words by pulling the strap tighter. Antionetta's face turned red and then purple in a matter of seconds. She still clawed desperately at her throat, drawing blood with her own nails. Mathieu pressed his body against Antionetta's struggling form, her movements rubbing over his erection.

"Aww Ocheeva, don't give me that look. We will have fun soon enough."

He teased. The leather strap creaked softly as he pulled it even tighter, biting into her tender flesh. The young woman's movements started to slow down, her arms dropping to her side.  
And then every single torch and candle went out, plunging the room into total darkness.  
The smile on Mathieu's face faded and in his surprise he let go of the thin strap. Antionetta collapsed to the floor coughing and sucking air in greedily. With her eyes opened wide she scrambled away from the Breton, crawling over the floor until she bumped into a wall. There she curled herself into a tight ball, crying hysterically.  
Bellamont turned around himself listening intently. But the sanctuary was eerily silent, except for Marie's crying and the slow breathing of the others. Yet something felt wrong, felt out of control. A shiver ran down Bellamont's spine as an otherworldly chill entered the room, making the breath visible in front of his mouth. Bellamont tried to summon a light spell but found that he wasn't able to cast anything at all. He had been silenced. A deep chuckle echoed through the darkness, coming from the far end of the hall. Bellamont whirled around in time to see one torch light up, casting its orange glow on empty space.

"Who's there!"

Bellamont roared, angered by being interrupted in what should be a great evening. He received no answer, silence hung heavy in the dark empty space between the lone torch and the Breton. Minutes ticked by and then a candle lit up, a bit closer to him and yet revealing nobody. And then a deep velvety voice echoed heavily through the silence.

"Father prayed and guess who came."

Bellamont paled at the sound of those words.

"The hooded man in Sithis name."

The silence that followed the rhyme was almost overwhelming.

"Who...Where are you?"

Bellamont screamed, his voice a little too shrill for his own taste, but received only a long moment of silence. Then another dark chuckle, from another direction.

"You look scared Mathieu."

There was a cold menace in the disembodied voice, that let the hairs of everyone stand on end. Another torch lit up and again it came from another corner of the vast room. Mathieu pulled his dagger out and strained his eyes to pierce the darkness. But he could pick up no movement.

"Who left but then came back once more,  
to pass through window wall and door."

The voice continued with the morbid poem.

"Show yourself!"

Mathieu hissed receiving an evil laugh as response. Again the disembodied voice had changed direction as it continued.

"I lie in fear my mouth agape,  
as wicked blade did cleave your nape.  
For I was watching..."

At this point Mathieu began to whisper along with the voice, completing the verse.

" 'neath the bed,  
to see the falling of your head.  
And when you lie upon the floor  
our loving eyes did meet once more."

A torch lit up and Mathieu's went wide in shock. There on the wall's ledge well within the shine of the torch sat a mummified head. Mother's head.  
The voice had already changed direction.

"Don't you miss your mother?"

"Where are you?"

Mathieu roared, still staring at his mother's head.

"Where did you find her? Show yourself!"

In his rage Bellamont began to slash the air in front of him, just as the torch on the side of the pillar lit up, casting it's orange glow on the group of shocked and bound assassins.

"Why so serious, dear brother? Thought you would be happy to see her again."

The voice teased, before lapsing into a long silence again. Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes and nothing happened. Then all the remaining torches lit up all together, revealing an empty sanctuary. Mathieu turned around himself a couple of times, the dagger so tightly in his fist, that it shook visible. Just as he started to relax a little, the voice started again.

"And when that's done I'll sing and dance."

Bellamont froze on the spot as the voice continued.

"To celebrate a dead..."

Bellamont's breath formed into a thick white cloud in front of his face as he ended the verse in a clear yet toneless voice.

"Lachance."

A shiver ran down Bellamont's spine. He could feel the air behind him solidify. The former Speaker's presence seemed to take up all the space in the wide hall.

"Hello Mathieu."

Lucien said in his cold cruel voice. Bellamont did not dare to turn around just yet. He stared in front of him, stared at Ocheeva's shocked pale face.

"That's impossible! I killed you!"

Bellamont's voice still sounded flat to his own ears. Behind him, Lucien chuckled.

"You did."

At this Bellamont finally turned and paled. Lucien, though dressed in his dark robes, was a transparent figure, his outlines glowing silvery in the torches warm glow. The spectre smiled. A smile that never reached his cold cruel and nearly black eyes.

"You broke my body and send me to the void."

The Breton began to back away from the sinister figure that was Lucien Lachance, dagger raised in a shaking hand.

"What do you want?"

Lucien held his hands out to his sides, empty palms up.

"I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood."

He told the young man casually.

"I act with the hands of our Dread Father, Sithis. I'm here to end a contract I started long ago."

The Imperial paused, his gaze turning distant for a second.

"So long ago..."


	21. Endgame

**Chapter 21 – Endgame**

Vicente blinked and raised his head tiredly. Had he just heard something? He felt exhausted, it had been so long ago since the last time he was fed. Or interrogated. It was like they had finally forgotten about him, left him here to starve. His once so quiet life was reduced to this damp cell and constant pain. His wrists were raw and his shoulders throbbed with dull pain from being suspended in this unnatural angle for months now. But the worst was his hunger. It was gnawing away on his insides and nearly drove him crazy. He huffed. Maybe he had already lost his mind. He could not tell. He had screamed and growled for days until his throat was raw and his voice only a harsh whisper, but no one ever came. By now he had lost all hope of being rescued and stopped struggling. He had hoped then, that the sun would take him, he had neither the will nor the strength to keep out of the square of bright light, wandering through his cell every day. But he found out, that the light never hit him directly and all his previous struggle had been in vain. It came close enough to hurt but it would not kill him. Again he thought, he heard voices drifting down the long hallway. The gaze of his pale red eyes drifted towards the window. It was dark outside. With a long drawn out sigh he shook his head.

 _I've lost my mind..._

He thought, wondering how long he would still linger in this suffering. He tried to sink back into the world of his happier memories when the jingling of heavy keys captured his attention. His brows furrowed together. It wasn't a good sign if the guards came to him at this hour of the night.

 _Maybe Indarys will finally get rid of me. But I swear by Sithis, I will not go down without a fight!_

He thought while gathering his remaining strength. He could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Soft footfalls of someone treating lightly.

 _Doesn't sound like a guard..._

Moments later a tall Dunmer in a dark robe appeared at his cell door, staring at him with a grim expression. Out of habit Vicente exposed his sharp fangs and growled deeply. As far as he was concerned, this was none of Indary's men. The Breton tensed. No, this guy was with the Mages Guild, he had seen him lurking around Cheydinhal a few couple of times. He did not know the Dunmer's name, but he had the reputation of being a loner, a quite grumpy loner. His cell door creaked open and the tall, slender mage entered, the grim expression never leaving his face. With a warning hiss, Vicente glared right into the Dunmer's blood red eyes. These eyes held a cruel coldness that made Vicente's inner alarms go off. Surely that was no mage to fool with. For a moment the Dunmer just stared at him, watching the emaciated figure closely. The vampire inhaled deeply, as the metallic scent of freshly shed blood hit him. It woke his inner beast, made his hunger unbearable. He was able to hear the beating of the mer's heart, a slow and steady rhythm. That man was not the least afraid of him. A smirk appeared on the mages face and he raised his hands to the tight iron shackle around the Breton's wrist but had to retract his hand quickly as the angry vampire tried to bite him. Sorilkad huffed, slapping the growling beast across the face. Vicente blinked a couple of times, before he bared his fangs yet again, hissing at the mage. His spirit had not yet been broken completely, there was still a spark left. And he would surely not become a plaything for the mages guild. Sorilkad's smirk widened into a cruel smile.

"So the creature wants to play?"

He asked with a voice that matched his cold gaze.

"I like that!"

The Dunmeri mage took a couple of steps back and summoned a spell in his hands. The crackling of magic filled the small dank cell and then he released the bright glowing spell at the vampire. Vicente braced himself, but instead of pain, he heard the clicking of locks and then the chains released him. The Breton fell forwards on hands and knees with a little gasp. For a moment he stayed down, gathering his strength. He had only one try to overpower that arrogant Dunmer. Only one try to kill, feed and escape this place. And then he would kill Bellamont for what he had done to him. He looked up and met the Dark Elf's calm gaze. He leant against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and a smug expression plastered all over his face. He waited for Vicente to make the first move. Rage began to boil in the starved man and slowly he stood up on sore shaking legs. But the promise of a meal was just too tempting. Vicente licked his dry lips before baring his long fangs in a snarl.

"That was your last mistake, Dunmer!"

Chuckling deeply, Sorilkad raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so, creature?"

Vicente drew his lips back angered and with a feral growl, he lunged at the slender mer. The constant smell of blood had already clouded his judgement and his vampiric instinct had taken over. Too late he saw the eerie green glow wafting around Sorilkad's hands. Vicente was hit by the spell square in his chest with such force, that he was knocked backwards. His back scraped painfully over the rough stone floor ripping barely healed wounds open. The old Breton cried out in pain and lay still on the floor. He knew that he needed to get up. Needed to fight as long as he could. But he could not get up, could not move at all. So he lay still on the cold ground, staring up at the ceiling, his last hopes fading away. He could hear the Dunmer's soft footfalls coming closer and moments later Sorilkad's face moved into view. He grinned down at the beaten man, his eyes as cold as the stone floor Vicente lay on.

"Haven't worked with a vampire in a long time."

The dark mage stated calmly.

"I'm sure we will have a lot of fun together."

Vicente's stomach churned with slight fear. He could bear the bodily torture, but he was sure that this mage had something for him in store that would leave him to beg for the whip. Sorilkad's eyes glowed green briefly. A glow that was reflected in Vicente's eyes.

"Get up, pet."

The mage said in a commanding tone and turned towards the door. Behind him, Vicente rose wide eyed and followed the mage out of the cell on wobbly legs, like a puppet. It was there in the light of the torches that the Breton finally got a better look on the mages dark robes. He drew in a shocked breath, while he tried to fight the spell he was under. Almost gleefully Sorilkad bit his lower lip and nibbled at the golden ring, watching the vampire struggle.

"Forget it pet. You are under my control now."

He said, still that smug smile on his face. He received a low growl as an answer that made him laugh.

"I admire your spirit. But this is how it goes. You are dead and I'm a necromancer. You are my thrall, end of story."

He gave the vampire a last good look over.

"And now come, your meal is waiting."

He led Vicente Valtieri down the corridor and through a door. The Breton's eyes widened slightly as he saw the jailor sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, his mouth gagged with a dirty cloth and hands bound together behind the backrest. Beside him stood an older guard with a blank expression and a drawn sword. Faintly he remembered those men. Suspiciously Vicente looked from Sorilkad to the two Imperials. The Dark Elf made a gesture towards the bound Cassius Pupius who's eyes were wide with fear. Sweat stood in thick droplets on this forehead.

"I thought you were hungry."

Vicente did not move, though the smell of Cassius fear was intoxicating.

"Why are you doing this?"

The vampire asked. Sorilkad chuckled and stepped over to the guards. He made a quick sign towards Flavius to give him some room and the guard obeyed instantly. The slender hands with the pointed fingernails landed on Cassius' shoulders, curling into a tight grip. Tight enough to make jailor shriek through his gag. Sorilkad's evil grin widened a little.

"You were not supposed to get out of the Sanctuary, Vicente. But I guess you just could not disobey your new Speaker, am I right? Even though he was the real traitor."

Vicente's eyes narrowed.

"How do..."

"I know? Oh my little pet, you would be surprised. For now, lets just say I found a nice body in a remote cabin."

The Breton's eyes widened.

"What did you do to him?"

The Dunmer only smiled, licking over his lip.

"When I found him, he was still warm."

"What did you do to him!"

Vicente shouted, his hands curled into tight fists. The Dunmer chuckled dangerously low.

"Maybe I'll show you later. But enough for now, my pet. Feed!"

Against his will, Vicente's feet moved forward, but then he gave in. His hunger was too great and seconds later he viciously sunk his fangs into the jailor's neck. The Imperial tried to scream and struggle, which prompted the vampire to readjust his bite and drove his fangs in even deeper. A wet spot appeared between the Imperial's legs, that grew constantly until a yellowish liquid dropped down to the floor, building a growing puddle. Vicente didn't care, he greedily sucked the crimson blood up until Cassius was dead and dry. Panting he released his grip on the neck, he already could feel his strength return. Slowly he straightened and turned to look at Sorilkad. The necromancer had watched him silently the whole time.

"You look better."

The mage commented dryly.

"I feel better ... and stronger."

There was no kindness in Vicente's voice, only a silent promise, that he would hurt him, as soon as he was able too.

"But you are still hungry right?"

The Breton did not answer, but his gaze that wandered towards Flavius betrayed him. The necromancer smirked.

"You can have him..."

Sorilkad turned towards the Imperial that had stood silently aside the whole time. A green glow briefly appeared in his eyes, then Sorilkad snapped his fingers, releasing his spell he had on the guard. Flavius instantly sunk to the ground, lifeless. Suspicious, Vicente turned him over. That man already felt cold to the touch, a sign that he had been dead for a while now. He raised a surprised eyebrow. The necromancer had controlled the guard ever since he killed him. That would explain how he had gotten in here. But it also raised the question of how powerful the mage really was. The Dunmer still seemed as calm as ever, as if the spell did not take any toll on him at all. Vicente pushed his thoughts into the back of his mind. That was something he could wonder about when he was done eating. For now, he needed all the strength he could get and maybe even heal a little. He sunk his fangs into the dead man's neck.  
When he finally had finished and got up, his cheeks had filled out considerably and he wasn't shaking any longer. It was then, he got aware, that he was still naked. He turned towards the taller man, who still had this smug smile on his face, that annoyed and angered the vampire so much. How he would love to rip that smile of the man's face, but still he was under his control. Sorilkad bent down to a chest and took something out. To Vicente's delight, he recognized his clothes only moments later.

"Here. Dress up."

Sorilkad commanded, even though the vampire was happy to oblige this time. Everything was still there, even the necklace his mother had given him so long ago. When he was dressed his gaze met with Sorilkad's again.

"Why are you doing this?"

He asked again, his voice stern and cold. The Dunmer shrugged.

"I was asked to get you home."

Was his cryptic answer, which raised only more questions in the Breton.

"Asked? By whom?"

He inquired, but the look on Sorilkad's face told him, that he would not get any answers. Instead the mage straightened his robe out and walked over to the door.

"Come now, pet. We need to go. Changing of the guards will be soon."

Without further ado the mage walked out of the room, knowing that Vicente would follow him. As the Breton entered the small tower room, he was hit by the smell of shed blood. He inhaled deeply.

"You had fun in here, didn't you?"

He asked the mer sarcastically, receiving a deep chuckle from Sorilkad. The mage however did not slow down and exited the tower swiftly. Outside Vicente was finally able to catch up with the mage, who walked in a steady even pace down the steep hill.

"Aren't you afraid of being seen?"

The Breton asked.

"With an undead...thrall? In that robe? They could have you hanged you know."

The Dunmer shot him a glare from out of the corner of his eyes. A small victorious smile tugged on Vicente's lips.

"Looks like I hit a soft spot didn't I?"

Sorilkad drew a deep breath, before he raised his hand. Vicente's eyes widened a little as he saw the ominous green glow around it.

"Aldmardi!"

Sorilkad hissed and the vampires eyes widened even more, as he found himself unable to utter even one more word. He now was completely under the mage's control. Sorilkad smiled wickedly at his unwanting companion.

"Better now, isn't it."

He paused, reaching into the folds of his robe.

"Try anything else and I will use this on you."

He held up a garlic bulb.

"I was told you have an allergy against it."

The incredulous look the vampire shot him, made him laugh. He would have to thank Lucien later. He was enjoying this quite lot.

* * *

Arquen tossed and turned on the bed, her beaten body covered in sweat, before waking up from her nightmare. Memories of her past had come back to haunt her. She had dreamt of her uncle, her father and brother abusing her again. They came for her from their graves, the gruesome wounds they had received from young Arquen still bloody and gaping. For a moment the Altmer woman just lay there panting, staring up at the ceiling. Exhausted she closed her eyes and forced her breath to calm down. She had racked her brain over a way to flee for so long now, but finally came to the conclusion, that she would die here. Would suffer at the hands of Bellamont. This time, there was no way out.  
She sighed, trying to ease her aching body into a slightly different position, without any success. It was then she got aware of the presence beside her, aware of the set of eyes staring down at her. Her eyes snapped open with a gasp, fearing that Bellamont had returned to her, to have his way with her again. But instead, she found herself staring up into cold green eyes, framed by red hair, that shone like blood in the candlelight. Delicate black lines of a tattoo framed a black hand print on the stranger's forehead. A handprint not unlike the Black Hand but she recognised it to be the Hand of the Tribunal, even though he was apparently an Altmer male. A quite handsome man, even though his ears had been cut. Quickly she recovered from her initial shock.

"You need to get me out of here!"

She almost hissed, still fearing that Bellamont might be in earshot. A smirk appeared on the tall Altmer's face as he straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now do I?"

He asked with an sardonic voice. A slight frown appeared on Arquen's face. She quickly blinked it away, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Please."

She said and though she hated to beg, she knew that men would often fall for helpless women.

"I was kidnapped and tortured. Please get me out before he comes back."

Caman nodded, slowly letting his gaze wander over her body. She was indeed covered in blood and bruises, cuts were all across her belly and they already looked infected. His gaze travelled further down to her legs. Her inner thighs were badly bruised as well and a pool of blood had built between them. It gave him a pretty good idea, what Bellamont had done to the Altmer female. And yet, Caman had never been one to let an opportunity slip by.

"I can see that. I'm not blind."

He said in a chilling tone.

"You enjoyed it?"

Her gaze darkened and though she was aching and weak she hissed.

"Are you crazy? How dare you talk to..."

"Shut up, you hypocrite bitch!"

The tall warrior cut her off. Arquen's eyes widened. Slowly Caman uncrossed his arms and light fell on the sharp blade of his elven dagger, he had in his hand.

"Let me tell you a little story."

He said calmly, playing with his blade, staring down at the bound woman with a cold stare.

"I had a friend once. He was framed for something he hadn't done and though he fled he was captured and tortured."

He paused, leaning down towards Arquen.

"First they broke his fingers, one by one. Then his back was shred into a bloody mess."

Caman's smirk widened, as he saw suspicion creep into her gaze.

"Why are you telling me this?"

She asked in a flat voice. Caman shrugged.

"Oh I was just having the impression you were fucking enjoying yourself back then. How did it feel to watch him die? A fucking helpless man?"

She stared up at him with wide eyes, while the warrior straightened up to his full impressive hight. Slowly he put the dagger away and drew his swords out.

"Tell me Arquen. How did it feel to rip his bloody guts out?"

She slowly shook her head.

"How do you know my name?"

Caman didn't answer, instead he growled.

"You should fucking die here, you bitch! You call yourself assassin? Pfff a bloody butcher you are, Arquen!"

He paused again, staring at her for a long moment. When he continued his voice was dangerously low.

"You gutted Lucien like a pig, let him die in his own piss and blood and didn't even have the courtesy of cutting his throat to end it! You have no honour!"

He stared down at her, anger barely hidden in his blazing green eyes.

"And now tell me you slag, why should I not just kill you?"

Arquen had no answer for him. Caman raised his swords, tips pointing downwards.

"If I had come to you first, I'd done more than rip your piss-flaps. I would have shoved my sword up your tight little elven ass till you choked on it!"

He raised his swords over his head, an angry gleam in his eyes.

"You stinking assassin whore!"

He brought his swords down in a powerful swing. Arquen pressed her eyes shut and waited for the pain to come. Metal screamed on metal and orange sparks flew away in every direction. And then her arms were free. She watched him hack the shackles apart on her feet as well before turning away from the bed. Slowly she sat up, rubbing her aching raw wrists, before pulling her legs up and hugging her knees. Though free, she knew she was completely at the Altmer warrior's mercy. When Caman turned towards her again, he flung a black cloth at her.

"Cover your stinking body up, you useless cunt!"

The Altmer growled, glaring down at her with cold eyes. Arquen let the material run through her hand, recognizing that it was a Black Hand robe. She inhaled deeply, holding the robe close to her face. It still had Lucien's faint smell. With a sigh, she slowly pulled the robe over her head and laced it up, before turning her gaze back to the red haired warrior. He had turned his back towards her. For a moment, Arquen wished for a dagger to plunge into his back. But she doubted that he would be an easy target. There was a dangerous air about this Altmer warrior. She eyed him a little closer. He moved with the elegance and strength of a lion.

"You don't like assassins."

She stated after a long while of silence. Caman turned, lifting his chin a bit and running the back side of his hand over the underside of his jaw. There was a thin white line across his throat, spanning from jaw to jaw right where the jaw met the neck. Someone obviously had tried to cut his throat once.

"Not at all."

He answered after a while. Carefully Arquen swung her legs out of the bed, not yet daring to stand up.

"Lachance... you had dealings with him, right?"

Caman huffed turning away from the woman and walked towards the desk.

"That's non of your bloody business."

He looked up at the ladder, leading towards the secret entrance before glancing back to her over his shoulder, realizing that she would not be able to climb up there in her current state. He cursed under his breath. The prospect that he had to take her back through the entire ruin evading the various traps was non he was looking for.

"Can you walk?"

Arquen looked up.

"I don't know."

Caman sighed rolling his eyes.

"Then fucking try it!"

Arquen made a sour face, yet she carefully tried to stand up, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. Stubborn as she was she tried to make a step forward, but collapsed on hands and knees. Caman sighed yet again.

"Oh bugger. You are as useful as tits on a bull."

With long strides he walked over and bent down, looping one arm around her chest, the other one through her knees, picking her up bridal style. She hissed out in pain, yet did not struggle. Her gaze wandered to the swords at his hips, a movement which went not unnoticed by Caman.

"If you try something, I'll rip your fucking arms out and beat you to a bloody heap with them."

She froze.

"Understood?"

Arquen nodded trying to ease her aching tense body a little. She felt like being lit on fire. Finally Caman swallowed his anger down, after all this woman had been heavily beaten.

"Put your arm around my neck, it'll be easier for you. We have a long way ahead of us."

She did as she was told, even leaning her head against his shoulder, while he walked her out of the dimly lit room and took her through an eerily lit hallway and then down into a long dark tunnel. She felt eerily safe in his arms, knowing that Bellamont would not be able to hurt her at the moment.

"Where are you taking me?"

She asked after a while.

"To the Sanctuary."

Was the mer's short answer. Arquen blinked. The sanctuary... Suddenly she tensed.

"To Bellamont?"

Caman chuckled.

"To his remains maybe."

Confused she tried to meet his gaze. A smile lifted his grazegfully swung lips up.

"The night is dark and full of terrors, little Arquen. And blood will spill upon this night."

He said cryptically, before lapsing into silence, leaving her with more questions than answers.

* * *

A young Dunmer stabled his horse in the middle of the night and returned to the road, leading up towards the main gate of Cheydinhal. An older mer was waiting for him there. Alval Uvani hated horses, though he would have never made the journey on foot in time. Having to sit behind Banus and clinging to his Silencer like a backpack for the entirety of their ride did nothing to improve his already foul mood. But they had arrived in Cheydinhal shortly after midnight. Alval looked up at the double towers lining the main gate. It was a long time ago since the last time he had been here, but he still remembered the basic outline of the town. Behind him, Banus lingered back, watching his Speaker closely. Uvani looked downright exhausted, his eyes sunken in with deep circles around them, his skin a shade to pale to look healthy. Banus was concerned, he knew that Bellamont's attempt on Uvani's life had taken a greater toll on his body than Uvani let on. And indeed, Uvani felt just as exhausted as he looked. Every single step he took, send waves of pain through his sore aching body. The Cure Poison potion, Banus had given him, might have saved his life, yet it did not reverse all effects of his allergy. His joints still were a little stiff and the older mer wasn't so sure how he would do in a fight. But yet he was too stubborn to just rest for a couple of hours. He turned to look at Banus, who tarried behind him and frowned deeply.

"Come on, Alor. Or do you want to put down roots?"

The young man blinked, his train of thoughts obviously destroyed, and hurried to his seniors side, before they continued down the road. The guards on either side of the huge gate already had spied the pair of elves and straightened up.

"Don't worry, I'm fine."

Uvani whispered only loud enough for his Silencer to hear. He had guessed, what plagued the young man's mind and after Banus had been so emotional earlier about his near passing, it wasn't his intent to scare the boy further.  
As soon as they reached the gate a city guard stepped in front of them.

"Stop right there! State your names and business!"

Alor swallowed nervously trying to think of something believable, but beside him, Uvani bowed his head slightly and stated all matter of factly.

"I'm Alval Uvani, travelling merchant and this is my son Banus. We're here for continuation and development of business relations."

The guard looked from mer to mer a second, before stepping aside.

"Enjoy your stay. You might find housing in the Newlands Lodge. First house on the left."

Alval gave the guard a short curt nod and entered through the high gate. But as soon as he was past the gate, his smile faded and turned into his trademark scowl. He turned towards his Silencer.

"Keep your eyes peeled for an abandoned house. That's where we need to go."

* * *

Bellamont slowly backed away from the sinister figure of Lucien Lachance, eyes wide in sheer horror.

"Stay...stay away from me! You're not real! You're dead!"

The young Breton snapped, his voice a little to shrill for his own liking. Lucien's smirk widened with an low menacing chuckle.

"Not so smug any more, are we?"

He taunted, his voice a dangerously low growl, while circling the other in a slow and steady pace. Bellamont's grip on his shaking blade's handle grew so tight, his knuckles cracked loudly in the otherwise silent room. The ghostly Imperial held his empty hands out at his side.

"I'm not often impressed, by our clients and our kin alike. But your plan was … spectacular."

Lucien almost purred, while he watched pearls of sweat run down Bellamont's temples.

"To fool the Black Hand, everybody in the Brotherhood, an elaborate plan to frame me."

He paused again with an eerie smile on his features.

"Such a waste of talent. Shame!"

Mathieu swallowed heavily and slashed his dagger through the air in front of him, a vain attempt to keep the spectre at bay, yet stayed silent. But the ghost did not seem to be intimidated by those half hearted attempts to defend himself. The Imperial just kept smiling, which weirded the young man out even more. But behind that creepy smile, Lucien silently thanked both Sorilkad and Caman for their relentless training. The Altmer had been right, after all, they had raised a warrior and his subtle moves to evade the swiping blade went unnoticed by Bellamont. The Breton's eyes darted around the room as if he was looking for a way to hide away. Lucien chuckled darkly.

"Say nothing? I can appreciate that. For silence is the music of Sithis."

Mathieu's eyes widened at those sinister spoken words. He had to swallow a couple of times, though his throat felt dry and raw until he found his voice again. With a raised dagger he shrieked.

"I killed you once. I saw your intestines hanging out! I can do that to you again!"

The spectre gave him a low laugh.

"Great words for a scared little boy. And a lie. You wish to kill me? Well you know someone else already had that honour."

Mathieu's eyes shifted to the floor a moment. True, he hadn't dealt the killing blow, that honour did indeed go to Arquen.

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

The ghostly assassin teased him and Mathieu's head snapped back up, eyes narrowing in anger.

"Oh wait, I killed her!"

Mathieu gasped, his grip around his dagger tightening again, while his rage finally overruled his fear.

"Die!"

The young Breton roared, jumping forward, dagger pointing at Lucien's heart. The proud Imperial sidestepped the oncoming blade easily, blocking Bellamont's arm by the elbow, before giving him a hard shove to the back. Mathieu stumbled forwards a couple of steps. Catching his balance he turned around with wild eyes, that finally revealed his madness. Again he charged at Lucien, who's hands suddenly held a set of daggers. Blades, Bellamont should have recognised easily, if he only cared to take a closer look. But in his rage, he blindly attacked the ghostly assassin again and again. And while the Breton's attacks were led by emotion, the Imperial blocks were well measured and precise. Still, the younger man was a trained assassin and quick on his feet.  
Again Mathieu jumped back and shifted his weight as if he would bring his left foot forward and attack with the dagger, that was in his left hand as well. Lucien tried to turn away to the right, but Mathieu let his dagger fly forward, right into Lucien's path. For a moment, Mathieu thought he had ended their fight with that move. And against a less well-trained adversary, he surely would have won. But then it dawned on him, that Lucien had anticipated that move and that the Imperial's turn to the right was nothing more than a bluff. A bluff that brought him right in front of the Blade of Woe. With a quick movement, more guided by luck than talent, he brought his dagger up to block the enchanted blade, while he ducked himself away. With a little jump, Mathieu brought himself out of the reach of Lucien's daggers. A smirk grew on the Imperial's face. His tactic worked perfectly. While he had only been defensive so far, the young attacker began to tire out. As for now, Bellamont stood panting and sweating, hands planted firmly against his thighs while he tried to regain his breath. Assassins were not made for lengthy fights, he had learned that the hard way. The weeks of training in heavy armour, as senseless as they had occurred to him, now paid off. His smirk grew into an evil grin. Bellamont was ready. Now was his time to strike.  
A low menacing chuckle drew Mathieu's attention to the ghost. Daggers in hand, the apparition began to circle him again. Bellamont knew he should attack, but his heart raced in his chest and his muscles protested already. He needed more time. He swallowed and raised his weapon defensively, while he felt like a sheep stalked by a wolf. The Breton's pale blue eyes shifted to the weapon's in the older man's hands. He held both daggers with the tip pointing backwards. It was then Bellamont's eye narrowed on them before they grew wide in horror. One was Lucien's Blade of Woe, an enchanted ebony blade. But the other one was Scalding, a fine silver dagger with runes edged into its blade, that gave it a strong fire enchantment. He knew that blade too well since it had been Uvani's blade.

 _How can that be?_

He thought, his mind hazed by panic. Uvani was dead as well and the Dunmeri Speaker died weeks after they had dealt with Lachance. Lost in his thoughts he hadn't noticed, that Lucien had stopped circling him and now stood right in front of him. It was only when the spectre spoke that he came out of his thoughts.

"You look lost, my dear Brother."

Bellamont's gaze met Lucien's and for once his wit had left him and he found himself at a loss of words. The Imperial smirked.

"Don't worry, soon you will sit in the darkness of the Void, where you will answer for what you have done."

Still Mathieu found himself not able to answer or move. It almost felt like he had been paralysed. With a dry laugh, Lucien turned away, before whirling back around in a blur of motion. Metal clattered on the stone floor.

"Darkness rises, when silence dies."

The Imperial said cryptically, his eyes fixed on the smaller man. Mathieu followed that gaze to his hand, he still had raised in defence. Only that his hand was gone, cut cleanly off, exposing muscles and bones of his arms, with blood seeping out of curled up arteries. His eyes grew round and with a shaking hand, he gripped his wrist. And with pain starting to register, he started screaming. Lucien turned away laughing deeply, slowly walking around the crying Breton.  
With another blood curdling scream Bellamont fell forward on his knees, as both of his hamstrings were cut. Tears were now flowing freely from his eyes and his mind was nearly overwhelmed by pain and fear. He winced as he felt Lucien stand directly behind him.

"You are pathetic."

The Imperial purred into his ear.

"Crying like a little kid."

The hood was ripped from his head, followed by the sound of a sharp knife cutting through clothes and then the dark robe was gone as well, leaving him only in his leather pants.

"You are not worthy."

The spectre said, rounding him again and gazing down at him with hard dark eyes. Mathieu felt something warm and sticky form in his pants and run down his thighs. It took him a moment to realise that he had more than only pissed himself. Lucien shook his head in disappointment, before grabbing a handful of Mathieu's hair and forcing him to look up.

"You should smile more."

The Imperial said almost fatherly, while the Blade of Woe left a crimson trail from the Breton's mouth up to his ear, cutting a permanent smile into his face. Still holding the man's head up by the hair he stepped around him once more, carefully avoiding the puddles of blood, piss and crap that formed on the ground. With one fluid motion, he cut the Breton's back from shoulder to the waist, leaving a deep gaping wound.

"Tell me Mathieu, how do you like it?"

The young man groaned in pain and sputtered blood, before he fell forwards, as his head was suddenly released. His gaze fell on his own dagger, that was still in his now cold dead hand. Slowly he reached for it straining his muscles to reach a weapon. But just as his fingers touched the handle a foot landed on his hand, crushing every bone in it. Bellamont couldn't help from screaming out.

"Manning up I see? Shame."

Lucien said, crouching down, without releasing the crushed hand from under his boot. A bubble of snot formed in front of Bellamont's nose as he squirmed under the Imperial's weight.

"But I'll relieve you of that pain."

With a strong hand, he grabbed the Breton's lower arm and cut it off at the elbow. Bellamont fell to the side, his face red and distorted but not able to cry out anymore. With a low chuckle, Lucien turned the young man over on his back. As much as he liked to torture that little worm a little more, his time was running out. He stabbed his blade up to the hilt into the other man's abdomen. Mathieu flailed around helplessly, before coughing up blood. For a brief moment, the pained gaze of his blue eyes met Lucien's dark once and he shuttered. There was nothing in them. No mercy no remorse, just the promise of a painful death. Again and again, the dagger found his way into the stomach of the tortured man. And then, just as Bellamont thought he could not take it anymore it stopped. A moment, Lucien's blade hovered over Mathieu's sternum, before crashing down, cutting through the bone like parchment. Mathieu gasped in shocked surprise, staring into Lucien's face as the Imperial said.

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother look upon your child and smile. For the unworthy have been cleansed in blood and fear. His heart shines with the colour of night, his song sings with the music of life."

Almost careful he pulled his Blade of Woe out, meeting Bellamont's gaze one last time, but the light had already left his eyes, leaving a crippled, empty shell behind.  
The assassin rose, sheathing his Blade of Woe while unsheathing Scalding. A moment he stood over the corpse silently his grim expression meeting the faces of his family. And for the first time this night he wasn't sure what he should do. He took a couple of steps forward, his grip on Scalding tightening. And then with a low growl, he stabbed the blade into the wooden handle of a torch. For a brief moment, light exploded out of the blade, before the room was plunged into darkness once more. As the lights flickered back on, Lucien was gone, taking with him the chill of the Void, that had surrounded him.


	22. Loose ends

**Chapter 22 –Loose ends**

Arquen had not noticed, that she had fallen asleep. The warmth of the strong warrior and the slow steady rising of his chest had lulled her to sleep. And she only woke when his movement had stopped and she heard his voice coming from far away.

"Hey wake up! By Nocturnal's tits! What are you? Twelve?"

She opened her hazel coloured eyes and blinked a couple of times, confused to where she was. The walls surrounding her were cut out of natural stone and lit up with an eerie red glow. Caman set her down on her feet carefully, not removing his arm from around her waist to keep her steady. And she still held on to him for dear life, feeling not yet fit enough to walk on her own.

"Where are we?"

She asked looking into his eyes, which now looked like wet moss.

"Home!"

The Altmer offered, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder. Arquen turned and her heart nearly skipped a beat. She was standing in front of the ancient black door, the entrance to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary.

"Here our ways part!"

Caman said shortly, prying his arm away from her, even though the female was not yet willing to let him go.

"You're leaving?"

"I did what I was told to do. Make no mistake. If I see you ever again, I'll give you a facelift. One you'll not like!"

He turned to leave, but she grabbed the sleeve of his chainmail shirt.

* * *

Across the Corbolo River, in the market district of the town, a man in dark clothing entered the Newlands Lodge. He looked around the public parlour, before choosing a table in a shadowy corner. One, where he could overlook the whole room. He sat with his back against a wall and facing the door. A lesson he had learned so long ago when he had been a young man. Never sit with your back towards the door. He pulled a silver amulet from his neck and started to play with it. The enchantment of the amulet was gone, he could very faintly feel the magic vibrating through it.

 _Sorilkad has always been such a talented mage, it's almost a shame he wastes his talent on necromancy._

Lucien had been very impressed by the effect, the Dunmer had put on the small trinket. Through its power, it had given him the very convincing appearance of a ghost. Lucien had liked that part of the game. He had fooled them all with that little trick. And he had left them in the believes, that he was dead. It would have been so very easy to reveal himself and take back his rightful place as a Speaker. And yet he could not bring himself to do so. What the Black Hand had done to him, they couldn't have made it more clear that he had been exiled. He would not march back there like a dog that had been beaten by his master, yet happily whacking his tail when he comes back. No. If they wanted him back, they should seek him out. But he wasn't sure if he even wanted to come back. True, the Brotherhood had been part of him for a long time now. But he had died for them, he was free now, was he not? He could start over now. He sighed deeply, shaking his head in resignation.

"Curse it all to Oblivion..."

He muttered before ordering himself a bottle of Cyrodiilian Brandy. He had done what he came for, sought out vengeance and ended a contract he started so long ago. Now all he wanted was to get drunk and maybe have a little fun.

* * *

The pair of Dunmeri assassins had no trouble finding the abandoned house, they were looking for and entered it silently. It made Uvani wonder though, how this Sanctuary could remain hidden for such a long time. That abandoned house was more than only a little obvious. At least the front of his Sanctuary was beneath a well-maintained mansion. Carefully he opened the basement door and led the way down the dark corridor. Both mer froze however as they heard a voice call out.

"You can't do that!"

Both Dunmer looked at each other with alarm. Both had not anticipated anyone down the corridor. Uvani summoned his magicka and his fingertips heated up slightly as he inched forward. Behind the last bend, a man replied darkly.

"I can do so much more bitch! Don't you think I would ever hesitate only because you have a stinking cunt between your legs? Scum is scum!"

"Funny coming from you!"

The woman hissed back. Uvani's scowl only deepened. The voice of the female, it sounded eerily familiar, even though the echo of the tunnel distorted it a little. A brief glance towards Alor told him, that his Silencer had recognised the male. He had paled a bit. With a light growl, the old mer let a small ball of fire appear in his palms and stepped forwards into the red glow, only to stop dead in his tracks yet again. A giant Altmer warrior had grabbed a smaller Altmer female by the throat, forcing her to stand on her toes while he was cursing quite colourful profanities at her. He couldn't see her face, but Alval didn't need to see it, to know who the female was. She wore a telltale black robe, that was too short for her and revealed bruised raw ankles.

 _That's the Altmer, Ungolim spoke of...Verhane!_

It shot through Alval's mind and his brows furrowed together even more.

"What are you doing here?"

He finally snapped, the fireball in his hands growing in size and changing its colour from orange to almost white. Caman whirled around in one fluid motion, keeping his iron grip on her and drawing one of his twin swords out in the same movement. The female elf clamped her hands around his wrist, trying to pry his fingers open, while her gaze flickered towards the two Dunmer. The fear written over her features turned into a shocked yet surprised expression, as she spied the older Speaker, and then into a silent plea for help.

"Uvani!"

She croaked out, her voice a mixture of hope and disbelieve. Caman's eyes narrowed dangerously, while his gaze went from Altmer to Dunmer before he suddenly let go of her throat. Arquen slumped back against the wall gasping for air. The older Dunmer's eyes shifted towards her briefly, before he focused on the warrior again, trying to figure the tall mer out. Recovering quickly, Arquen made an unsteady step towards Uvani but was blocked by a thin sharp blade of Caman's second sword, which he had drawn out in the blink of the eye. She froze immediately, sensing that Caman's patience with her had run thin, while the warrior's green eyes finally fell on Alor, who had fallen a bit behind his Speaker. A grin spread across the Caman's even features.

"Oh look who we have here. The little asshole."

He greeted the young mer with a cheerful voice. Banus took an involuntary step backwards. Alval, sensing his Silencers discomfort, took a bold step forward, bringing himself between the young elf and the tall mer, the fire spell in his hands again changing colours from white into an angry blue. By now, he could feel the heat of the flames on his face.

"I'll turn your bones to ash!"

Alval sneered angrily, his eyes shining crimson with fury. But Caman only chuckled.

"Ohhh, a spell. I'm so scared!"

Uvani growled darkly, the fire engulfing his hands only growing, ready to burn that infernal Altmer into a shrivelled up little corpse. And yet Caman laughed out loudly before his voice turned suddenly dark and serious.

"Drop that shit, N'Wah. You'll end up having a sodding blade through your fucking spine. And then I'll rape your fucking corpse! Ohn vith'ez morfijin bunjiro!"

Uvani's glowing eyes narrowed on the Altmer.

"I'd like to see you try!"

The Dunmeri Speaker almost growled, accepting the challenge. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, he readied himself to release the deadly spell on the insolent mer. And then suddenly his fire died out and he straightened up, meeting Caman's grin with an emotionless stare, the angry glow in his eyes gone.

"Juli wiu! Zexem'uma skrel!"

A gravelly yet menacing voice came from out of the shadows. Banus whirled around, startled by the sudden noise but stopped dead in his tracks, as he saw the tip of a glowing glass dagger being pressed into Uvani's side. A grin appeared on Sorilkad's face as he looked the young mer over, before pressing the tip of his free index finger against Alor's chest.

"Get back, asshole!"

His voice was calm, almost emotionless, as he released enough energy to let the Silencer tumble against the wall.

"What do you want from us?"

Uvani asked grumpily, holding both hands up, to show the two strangers that he had let his magicka die out. His eyes flickered briefly towards Alor, who groaned in pain, holding his chest, where the shock spell had hit him. It was a glance that held both a warning to stay down and the unspoken question if he was ok. Banus only nodded, before his gaze fell to the floor again.  
Caman straightened up to his full height with a sigh, finally sheathing his swords.

"Actually we are helping you lot of fucktards!"

He answered nonchalantly before he turned to Sorilkad.

"Let the sucker go, he will not cause us any trouble."

The gaze of his green eyes fixed the Dark Elf Speaker for a long moment.

"Right?"

Satisfied that he received a sharp nod he turned towards his friend.

"Any trouble in the prison?"

Chuckling Sorilkad shook his head.

"Pet was a bit too vocal for my liking. Fixed that issue."

He paused pointing his thumb towards Uvani and his silencer.

"Surprised to see this bunch of idiots tough."

Caman shrugged, while Uvani stepped past him with an angry frown on his face and reached for Arquen. Instantly the woman leant part of her weight on her fellow Speaker, who steadied her with an arm around her waist. She looked terrible enough for him to be concerned.

"Why would a mage and a warrior help us? You are not part ..."

Caman held up his hands.

"If you say, family, I believe I have to kill you..."

"Part of the Brotherhood."

Uvani finished, putting some emphasised on the last word while glaring up into Caman's face, a silent challenge. Caman turned towards Uvani and squared his chest, letting his muscles play a little under his armour. With a smirk he started:

"Because you little..."

He was cut off by Sorilkad however, who squeezed himself between the two mer, pushing Caman back.

"Because of reasons."

He finished his big friend's sentence, before bowing his head slightly.

"But I see we are finished here."

He turned Caman around pushing him towards the tunnel.

"What reasons!"

Uvani snapped.

"What reasons could a barbarian and a necromancer have?"

"Lachance..."

Arquen said next to the Dark Elf Speaker, her voice barely a louder than a whisper.

"But why?"

A grim smile appeared on Sorilkad's face, while he fixed his cold, calculating gaze on the woman.

"Let's just say, we are extended family. That's all you need to know."

With that, he gave the assassins another small bow, before turning on his heels and disappearing into the tunnel. Caman started to follow the mage but stopped next to Alor, bowing down to the smaller mer.

"I'm already looking forward meeting you little bugger again."

His low voice rich with confidence as he patted the young mer's cheek.

"See you little asshole."

With that, the High Elf straightened and sauntered up the corridor, following his friend out of that tunnel. Uvani shot murderous glances after them until he was sure they were gone and turned towards Arquen.

"By Sithis, Arquen..."

He started but out of impulse, Arquen pulled him into a tight hug, burying her face into his reddish hair and cutting him off. For a moment he tensed up with his scowl deepening, but then with a deep sigh, he put his arms around the shaking woman, trying to calm her down. He hadn't seen her this distraught ever since she became a member of the Dark Brotherhood. They both had still been young back then.

"He told me you were dead."

With another deep sigh, the Dunmeri Speaker pried her arms away from his neck, finally freeing himself from the hug.

"He tried, Arquen. But failed."

His eyes shifted towards Alor briefly, whose gaze was still fixed on the floor, visibly shaken.

"Thanks to my Silencer here."

The Altmer nodded, drawing in a shaky breath, before turning her attention first to the younger Dunmer and then to a silent figure standing a couple of steps back. Her eyebrows wandered up as she recognised the silent Breton.

"Valtieri?"

She asked, but the vampire only stared ahead with a blank expression, mouth pressed shut so tightly, his lips were only a thin white line. Beside the tall woman, Uvani raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"The Necromancer's doing."

He mused while taking a step closer towards the statue-like man. Right at that moment, a green flash lit up the vampire's eyes, before he stumbled forward with a low groan. He needed a couple of breaths before straightening up again. His eyes widened a little with surprise, taking his surroundings in.

"Speaker Arquen, Speaker Uvani...I...I'm sorry, that necromancer...he had me..."

Vicente tried to get his thoughts together but was stopped by Uvani's raised hand.

"We figured."

The experienced Speaker took a last good look around, straining his hearing to be sure, that the two strangers really had left the tunnel. As he was sure, he turned towards the door.

"We will talk about that matter later. First, we rest...and heal."

With that, he muttered the password and the ancient black door opened.

* * *

Two mer entered the Newland's Lodge, laughing and joking. The publican looked at the tall Altmer with a suspicious look, sending a silent prayer to each of the nine divines that Verhane would not cause any trouble at this ghastly time of night.

 _At least Verhane is out of his armour...always a good sign._

she thought, taking a closer look at the tall mer. He was wearing a dark green short sleeved tunic, revealing more of his muscular tattooed arms and a little bit of his well-chiselled chest. His friend beside him wore a similar tunic only in dark blue and it too revealed tattooed arms. The mer ordered each a bottle of beer before they sat down at the table, that was already occupied by a moody Imperial.  
Lucien looked up as he saw his friends come in and a relieved smile tugged at his lips. They were well and safe and surely fulfilled their part to his utter satisfaction. His family was safe again. All of them. He emptied his glass just as they took their seats at the table. Caman cocked his head to the side and took a quick sniff at the bottle in front of Lucien before holding it against the light. It was almost empty. The Altmer raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Damn mate, you're drunk already!"

Lucien chuckled and took another sip.

"I'm fine. Feels strange though. Saving the family and not being part of the family..."

He put the small amulet in front of Sorilkad, who put it away into his pocket. With concern written all over his features, the Dunmeri mage looked over the table.

"So it worked? How did it go down?"

Lucien smiled.

"Splendid. That little bastard actually shat himself. You should have seen his face."

Sorilkad nodded slowly.

"Yet you are drinking yourself stupid. Lucien, do you really think you can fool me?"

The Imperial's gaze darkened for a moment before he took another sip of his glass.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Sorilkad drew breath for a lengthy answer, but Caman's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Not now Soril. Look at him. That guy has been through much the last months. Just let him have some fucking fun for a change."

The Necromancer raised an eyebrow.

"Best friends all of a sudden eh? I fear the worst."

He muttered while a mischievous smirk lit up the Altmer's face.

"Just wait a moment, I'll be back in a second."

He stood up and went over to the publican, while Lucien watched him talk to her.

"What is he doing."

Sorilkad shrugged, his brows furrowed together in a deep scowl.

"You don't want to know..."

From the counter, they heard Dervera Romalen giggle and Sorilkad rolled his eyes as he saw her hand feel over Caman's chest and biceps. Moments later she ducked down and handed the High Elf a black bottle. Caman smiled brightly at her, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek before returning to the table. He set three shot glasses in front of them and the bottle in the middle.

"Drinking time, boys."

He exclaimed, still beaming. Lucien took the bottle into his hand and looked at it curiously.

"What is that?"

"Cliff Racer."

Caman answered. Beside him Sorilkad groaned, remembering the last time he was on a drinking spree with Caman. Lucien looked up with a questioning look in his eyes.

"It's only for the bravest of souls."

Caman explained further.

"Cliff Racer is Firebrand Wine, Cyrodiilic Brandy, Flin and Sujamma."

With his eyebrows wandering up on his forehead Lucien put the bottle back on the table, where Caman grabbed it immediately and filled their glasses.

"You are a brave soul, Lucien, are you not?"

The Highelf lifted his glass.

"To us. To the brothers of darkness."

The other two men lifted their glasses as well

"To the brothers of darkness."

* * *

Uvani stared down at what had been Mathieu Bellamont with disgust, holding one hand over his nose and mouth. He had not been prepared for the sight, they were greeted with. What remained of his former Silencer looked like it had been ripped apart by an angry Xivilai. His stomach had been shredded, strewn around him were pieces of his guts, flesh and muscles, a grizzly permanent smile was carved into his mouth. And he stunk. Of fear, death and faeces.

"By Sithis..."

Vicente Valtieri muttered standing beside the Dunmeri Speaker forcing his gaze away from the gruesome sight. He met Ocheeva's shocked eyes, who was still bound.

"Vicente..."

She muttered, her tongue flickering out to test the air, to see if the Vampire was real or just another apparition. With a growl, the vampire shook himself and hurried over to the mistress of the Sanctuary and finally freed her. She hugged him tightly as soon as he put his knife away.

"You're back."

She muttered.

"What happened?"

Vicente smiled at her.

"That's a long story. I'll tell you later."

And while Vicente worked on freeing the other members, Arquen stepped beside Uvani, looking down at the broken corpse.

"He had it coming."

She said after a while. Beside her, the Dunmer grunted in approval and turned around.

"What in all Oblivion happened here!"

He snapped over the buzz of conversation. Vicente and Ocheeva turned towards the Speakers. She bowed politely.

"Best we talk about that privately."

Ocheeva said, her voice forcefully calm. Her stern gaze met Vicente's concerned gaze yet again, as she continued.

"But first I'm afraid, we have to deal with one of our very own. Bellamont did not work alone. Antionetta helped him."

For a moment, Vicente's eyes widened, but then his gaze darkened with anger and disappointment.

"Where is she?"

Was all he asked, but before Ocheeva could answer, her brother walked up to her.

"I'm afraid, Sithis has already dealt with her."

Was all Teinaava said in a grave voice, pointing towards the wall. The eyes of the gathered high-ranking members followed the Argonian's outstretched fingers. There, with her back against the wall, lay the still body of the young Breton woman. Her eyes were wide and empty, her gaze still fixed on what had been Bellamont. A frown appeared on Vicente Valtieri's features. Her once golden hair had turned white.

"She died out of fear."

He said his voice stern and low. Beside him, Ocheeva nodded solemnly, before she turned her attention back to the members of the Black Hand. She would deal with Antionetta's passing later. Would address the rest of the Sanctuary later. But now, there were more important matters to attend to. Her tongue flickered out once more. She could smell Lucien's faint scent on the clothes of the female, as well as wounds that were concealed by the robe. A shiver ran down her spine as she thought back to the events. It couldn't be a coincidence that two high-ranking members of the Brotherhood suddenly stood in their sanctuary. Both looking worn out and tired. And while she led them down to her private quarters, it became clear to Ocheeva, that Bellamont had come close to wipe out the Black Hand as well.

* * *

In the early morning hours, Dervera Romalen stopped Caman as he returned from the bathroom.

"You're two buddies are seriously drunk."

She said to him as calm as possible. Caman gave her a genuine smile.

"I've noticed."

He purred.

"Though that's a nice way of putting it. They completely smashed."

Dervera scratched the back of her head almost nervously.

"You mind getting them into bed? I would like to close down."

Again Caman nodded; stifling a yawn himself: He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep himself in a long while.

"Aye, lass, sure thing."

With that, he slowly moved through the public parlour, towards their table. His friends were hanging over the wooden round, giggling like little kids and he had to shake his head with an amused smile. He had to admit, that killing a whole bottle of Cliff Racer might not have been the brightest idea. Now Caman was confronted by the fact, that he had to babysit two grown men. Very drunken, silly grown man. Lucien Lachance looked up at the tall Altmer, as Caman grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up nonchalantly.

"Come on, bedtime."

Caman said calmly, while Lucien put his arm around the Altmer's waist.

"My fair lady,"

The Imperial slurred.

"Ha you e'er h-heard the tale o'Mathieu Bella...mont an the great treachery o'Cheydinhal?"

Caman rolled his eyes while he grabbed Sorilkad on the other side, steadying the Dunmer by the waist. The Dunmer chuckled.

"LuLu I think the maid has a dick."

Both men burst out with laughter while Caman dragged them up the stairs.  
Reaching their room, he put Sorilkad on a chair and Lucien on the bed. The Imperial immediately collapsed, causing Caman to finally lose it.

"Seriously? You two are fucking kidding me!"

He did not receive an answer, only a slight snoring came from Lucien, who had already fallen asleep. With a growl, he began to strip the Imperial naked, throwing his cloth into a messy pile on the floor.

"Bloody wanker! Can't even hold his liquor!"

The Altmer cursed under his breath, pulling the robe over the Imperial's head, messing up his hair greatly. When he was finally done undressing the assassin, he roughly pulled the sheets out from under him, before covering him up. He straightened his back and turned towards Sorilkad, who had been unusually quiet the whole time.

"What the fuck..."

He cursed, seeing that the mer had fallen asleep in the chair as well.

"Next time, I'll make sure those suckers are bloody naked when we start drinking!"

Moments later he had Sorilkad undressed as well. And he too landed in bed with the Imperial, who turned around and hugged himself to Sorilkad as soon as he sensed the warm body beside him. For the last time, Caman sighed settling down on the other bed, soon falling asleep himself.

* * *

In the late morning hours, Alval Uvani was pacing around in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. He hadn't gotten much sleep that night after they all shared their stories. Something did not match up. And it concerned the Dunmer greatly. Everywhere he went, these two strangers seemed to show up. First Ungolim, then Alor and now they assisted to free two members of the Brotherhood, even though they had no apparent ties to the Brotherhood themselves. That didn't make any sense. Uvani wrecked his brain, how these two might have gotten any information about the Brotherhood at all. And after what he had heard, a theory had formed in his mind, he did not like at all. One little detail had the Speaker concerned. One of them was a Necromancer and according to Vicente Valtieri, they had come across Lucien's dead body.

 _Has Lachance spoken to them from beyond the Void?_

Uvani sighed and looked around the great hall. Someone already had gotten rid of the bodies, though he could still smell it, especially where the blood had pooled. Slowly he walked over to the stain on the floor, that held the faint outline of Bellamont. Ocheeva had told him, that it had been the ghost of Lucien Lachance who had claimed Bellamont. Uvani rubbed his hands over his face. It did not make sense at all. Had Lachance been sent back as the Wrath of Sithis?

"No... That cannot be."

He muttered under his breath. He once had faced the Wrath of Sithis himself in his youth. There had to be more to the story, he just had to find the missing link, that connected a warrior and a necromancer to the Brotherhood. Deep in thought, his gaze wandered around the room, until it fell upon the dagger that was still embedded into the torch. For a long moment, Uvani just started at the weapon without really seeing it, but then a visible jolt went through the Dunmer as he finally recognised the weapon. With a raised eyebrow he pulled the dagger out of the wood and stared at the blade.

"Scalding."

He whispered.

"But how..."

He turned around as he heard conversation coming from the private quarters and seconds later Ocheeva and Arquen entered the great hall. Ocheeva had obviously cared for the other woman's wounds since Arquen looked a lot better. They looked up as they saw the Darkelf standing in the hall, dagger in hand.

"Uvani?"

The Altmer woman looked at him questioning.

"Something amiss?"

The mage huffed and closed their distance holding the dagger up.

"Where did you get this?"

He asked, his voice low and his brows furrowed together deeply. Ocheeva gave him a light shrug.

"His ghost brought it with him."

A dark shadow crossed Uvani's face. There was something amiss indeed. This here was his dagger. He had given it to Alor as a bonus about a year ago. And Banus had lost the dagger to Verhane and his friend. According to Ocheeva and Valtieri, neither of them had ever been in the Sanctuary. Again everything pointed towards the Necromancer. He must have given it to Lachance.

 _You can find bedding in the Newland's Lodge._

He remembered the guard tell him in the night.

 _Newland's Lodge... maybe I should start looking into the matter myself. Maybe I can find that Dunmer there. Or his ghost..._

He thought and turned towards the exit without another word.

"Uvani. Where are you going?"

The old mer's step faltered a moment, but then he walked on.

"Out."

Was all he said, leaving the two women behind baffled. After he was gone, Ocheeva turned towards Arquen.

"Is he always that grumpy?"

The female Speaker only sighed and nodded, asking herself what had been on Uvani's mind. He had looked rather shaken.  
Outside, Uvani took a deep breath inhaling the cold but fresh air. It had started snowing overnight and the sky was a dark grey colour. He could smell the winter on the wind. He shook his head, making his way over the bridge and towards the main gate. The houses lining the street reminded him of Balmora. Similar design, which was no wonder, considering that Cheydinhal was so close to the Morrowind border. With these thoughts he entered the Newland's Lodge and looked around the public parlour, the gaze of his crimson eyes soon settling on a familiar face. Without a word of greeting, he sat down at a table, opposite a tall mer with flaming red hair. Caman looked up from his breakfast, light circles under his green eyes. Stifling a yawn, he said:

"Damn, you look like you've been the playmate of a Deadra."

A sour expression appeared on the Darkelf's face, who as well had deep circles under his eyes and was a shade to paler than normal. Uvani's scowl deepened.

"I can say the same about you. Drank a little too much last night?"

Caman chuckled and shrugged.

"You bet! I've always enjoyed a drink in good company. Makes women welcome a good fuck."

Uvani nodded absent-mindedly, letting his gaze wander through the room again.

"Where is he?"

He finally asked. Caman pierced his eyes into the Dunmer's face, while taking a big sip of his coffee.

"Listen. I'm not in the mood to play the fucking pronounce game! Where is who?"

Uvani sighed, trying to be patient with the arrogant Altmer.

"Lachance."

Caman leant back, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest, making his biceps muscles bulge, his gaze hardening.

"I don't know anyone by the name of Lachance."

He finally answered the older mer. Alval smacked his flat hand on the table in a sudden fit of anger. This man was annoying the living daylights out of him.

"Don't take me for a fool! I know he is with you!"

Caman chuckled.

"You guys butchered him! Left him to rot in his little cottage."

"No! I didn't!"

The Darkelf growled.

"And I never saw his corpse. I'm not stupid! Where is he!"

"I told you already..."

Caman started but was cut off by Alval, who was clearly angry by now.

"Then Tullius or however you call him. And stop playing with me, I don't have time for your games."

Still, Caman regarded him with a cold stare, thinking his options through. Finally, he unwrapped his arms with a sigh.

"Fine. Follow me."

He emptied his cup of coffee and went to the counter, calmly ordering two more cups, much to Uvani's annoyance. The grumpy Dunmer's patience was already running dangerously thin. Caman turned to the Speaker, pressing one hot mug into the other mer's hand.

"Here. If you want to talk to him, you'll need that. Raises the spirit."

Confusion crossed the Dunmer's face, but without another word, he followed the Altmer upstairs into their rented room. Stale air and the smell of alcohol hit him, as he entered and while Caman sat down on a chair, sipping on his own coffee, Uvani looked around. In bed lay the necromancer, still snoring softly. His naked body only halfway covered up by a crumbled sheet, revealing a scarred and tattooed body. Uvani raised an eyebrow, but before he could comment on the situation he heard movement in the little bathroom adjacent to the room. Moments later the door was opened and an Imperial came out. Uvani's eyebrows rose on his forehead with surprise. The man in dark linen pants was pale as a ghost, his dark hair tousled, messy strands standing in every direction or hanging in his face. Uvani couldn't help from grinning.

"You look like you just rose from your grave."

Lachance looked up, a thin, still red scar across his face stood in stark contrast to his pale skin. For a moment he considered Uvani with a surprised glint in his dark brown eyes before he sighed.

"I feel like I'm ready for the grave..."

His eyes narrowed on the older Dunmer.

"You too have seen better days, Uvani. You are getting old."

Uvani couldn't help but chuckle softly, pressing the cup of coffee into the Imperial's hand.

"But for a corpse, you still look good."

The Dunmer's eyes wandered over Lucien's body for a moment. There were some very prominent fresh scars, telling him a tale of what he had to endure. Silence settled over them, only distorted by Sorilkad's snoring. Then Lucien turned away and grabbed his dark tunic. Uvani shook his head, as he saw the scars on the back of the Imperial, asking himself what Arquen had been thinking. Of course, she had told him in great detail what she had done to Lucien.

"Damn for a couple of Speaker, your sure are silent!"

Caman teased from where he sat. Both turned towards him, the constant look of annoyance back on the Dunmer's face.

"Can we talk in private?"

He asked Lachance, who nodded in agreement.

"Breakfast?"

Moments later the two sat downstairs in a quiet corner, pots of coffee in front of them.

"What are you doing here? Especially since you are supposed to be dead?"

Lachance asked after a long time. Uvani shrugged.

"Actually I figured it was Bellamont after he tried to kill me."

"You were looking for revenge."

The Imperial concluded before they lapsed into silence again.

"How did you figure out I was still alive?"

Uvani raised an eyebrow, swallowing a piece of bread with a big sip of coffee. Then he reached to his belt and drew Scalding, placing the dagger on the table.

"You left a clue."

A smug smile tugged at the Imperial's lips.

"You recognised the dagger after your friends had taken it from Banus. That's how you knew he was an assassin, right?"

Lucien chuckled.

"Your new Silencer seems a bit timid."

Uvani shrugged.

"Still he can perform and he is a clever boy. I'm sure he will make a fine Speaker some day."

Another pause.

"How?"

Lucien drew a deep breath.

"No thanks to you lot, that's for sure. I turned to my friend Sorilkad early on in that whole affair. Hoped to find some answers … well and a hiding spot. He found me just in time."

Uvani raised an eyebrow.

"The necromancer?"

"He's more than that. He is a respected member of the Mages Guild. And studied in Sadrith Mora."

"You can call yourself lucky to have such friends."

"Especially after my family failed me."

Lucien said with a hint of pain and disappointment in his voice. Uvani only nodded in understanding. They finished their breakfast in silence and only after the second cup of coffee, Uvani finally said.

"There are still issues at the Sanctuary. One of your Slayers died out of fear. And it still needs a Speaker."

Lucien looked at Uvani over the rim of his cup, his face void of emotion.

"There are two there at the moment, who are perfectly fine to deal with all issues."

"Sorry, but I'm not interested. I have enough to do with my own. Besides Cheydinhal had been entrusted to you."

"I was exiled, you remember?"

The Dunmer huffed.

"We were fooled and blind and obviously very stupid. All I can do is offer my sincere apology."

"You weren't the one, torturing me, Alval. And I know you well enough that you do not jump to conclusions easily. To your credit, Bellamont's plan was brilliant with a lot of work put into it. Still..."

He stopped himself, his gaze meeting the Dunmer's. The Darkelf sighed, looking down into his half empty cup.

"You cannot simply walk away from the Brotherhood."

Alval finally muttered.

"I know."

Again their eyes met before Uvani finally stood up.

"Think of it, Lucien. You belong to the family. As do your friends now to some extent. Please, come back home."

The Imperial nodded, but made no move, though the Dunmeri Speaker understood. With a nod he left the inn, heading back towards the Sanctuary. He understood, that Lucien needed time after all he'd been through.

* * *

The morning had turned to noon and finally to evening. And though things had quieted down greatly within the Sanctuary, Alval Uvani was still unusually restless. He hadn't spoken to anyone about the encounter, he had in the morning. And though he had hoped that Lucien would return to his rightful place as Speaker of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, the day had turned old without him showing up. By now, the old mer believed, that the man had indeed walked away from his family, too hurt by what they had done to him. He looked up, as he saw movement out of the corner of his eyes, realizing that his uncharacteristic nervousness had drawn the attention of both his Silencer and Arquen to him. They had already tried to question him earlier that day about what was wrong with him, but he refused to tell them. Instead, he told them, that he still felt the effects of his previous encounter with Bellamont. As night fell he finally walked up to Alor, who sat with Arquen, Vicente and Ocheeva at a table.

"Here you are, Alor. Prepare yourself for travelling home. We'll leave in about an hour."

The young mer rose nodding.

"Already?"

Arquen asked. Uvani turned to her, a stern look on his face.

"The Listener needs to know."

"But we still have to elect a new Speaker. I was already talking the matter over with..."

"That does not hurry, Arquen."

Uvani interrupted, still hoping that Lucien would return. He turned his attention back to his Silencer.

"Best we ride to Bravil as soon as possible. Oh and here..."

He handed Alor his sheathed dagger."

"I believe that belongs to you."

Alor's eyes went round as he looked at the dagger he had thought he had lost.

"How..."

He started but Uvani waved him away.

"That doesn't matter. Now off you go."

* * *

Caman found the Imperial assassin sitting on a bench on the small island in the Corbolo river shortly after nightfall. An uncharacteristic frown appeared on his even features, as he settled down on the bench next to him.

"Still here?"

He finally asked. Lucien only nodded, not taking his eyes of the ever-moving surface of the water. Caman's eyebrows rose in slight surprise. After the visit of the other Speaker, he had thought that Lucien would go back to his old position happily. Instead, the Imperial seemed deeply troubled.

"What's wrong with you? I thought you were happy?"

Again the man only shook his head and shrugged simultaneously.

"I don't know. I want to go back, but ..."

"Then go back. There are no fucking buts!"

Caman looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"You are scared!"

Finally, the Imperial looked up.

"No. Just confused. I needed time to think things through."

"I can take you along on some of my contracts if you don't want to part with us. I mean,I would enjoy my company too."

With a chuckle, Lucien rolled his eyes.

"Stay with you? Verhane you're nothing but trouble."

The Altmer grinned.

"I know. But at least I have fun."

Both men shared a laugh and looked over the river for a while each lost in their own thoughts for a while.

"Caman."

Lucien started after a while.

"As a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, I would like to offer you a place in our family. We could use a man with your talents."

Caman regarded him for a long while, surprised by that offer. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and stern.

"No, Lucien. I'm fine in the Fighters Guild...Besides, I still don't like assassins."

"Because one cut your ear off?"

Caman chuckled softly, his eyes lost in the distance.

"It's more than that, Lucien."

Their gazes met and after a long moment of silence, Caman sighed.

"Look Lucien. Sorilkad and me, we go back a long time. I met him when he was just a goofy kid and we grew up like brothers. Only that he was a rich kid and my mother, a Suran whore, struggled to keep us fed and dressed. When Sorilkad left for Sadrith Mora in his youth, I went to Vivec and joined the Morag Tong."

Lucien raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had suspected, that the Altmer may have had dealings with the Morag Tong, but never assumed that he had been an assassin himself.

"For a while, I made good money, supported the family and climbed the ranks until I held the rank of Brother. Then I got a contract, that changed everything. My target was Talghed Malur."

"Sorilkad's father."

Caman nodded.

"Yes. And I just couldn't do that. His mother had died a couple of years earlier, I could not kill his father. I would have lost my brother, he would have never forgiven me if I did it. So I went to Sadrith Mora and warned Sorilkad of what was about to happen, then went into hiding. They found me early one morning in a dimly lit alley in Balmora and cut my ear off as a sign of my exile. I ran Lucien, for weeks, but they found me every time. One came close killing me."

The mer lifted his head and showed Lucien the thin white scar across his throat.

"And then I came to Cyrodiil and life got a lot easier. I want to keep it that way. Besides I really enjoy the Fighters Guild."

The lapsed into silence for a while, until Lucien turned towards the tall mer, fixing him with his gaze.

"Still you know our secrets."

Caman laughed slapping the Imperial on his back.

"And I will use them shamelessly to get on your nerves every time I'm here."

Lucien made a sour face.

"I had feared as much."

Again they laughed before Caman rose.

"Don't worry. I'm not one to share secrets. And my friends can always count on my help, even though they are with the Brotherhood."

He stopped and looked over the river. In the gloomy shadow of the great chapel, he saw the outlines of an old house.

"And now go. They are waiting for you."

Verhane said, his voice calm and stood up. Lucien looked up.

"Where are you going?"

The mer turned and smiled at him, his expression unreadable.

"Home."

* * *

"No Alval, you are not leaving!"

Arquen demanded, still not willing to let the matter go. The Dunmer sighed, again close to losing his patience.

"Arquen, there is nothing you can do to make me stay. I'm not making a decision right now. You can accept it, or not, I don't care."

Arquen glared over the table at her fellow Speaker ignoring the other three sitting on the table completely.

"You know very well, that we have to make this decision! And we have to make it now! A Sanctuary cannot go without a Speaker."

Uvani huffed, smacking his flat hand on the table.

"It's enough Arquen!"

He snapped, but stopped himself, looking past the Altmer woman. Sitting on the head of the table, his gaze flickered over to the door, and the dark figure that lingered on the threshold behind the High Elf. He almost smiled.

"Dear Sister. I don't need to make a decision. This Sanctuary already has a Speaker."

Confusion crossed her face.

"What do..."

She started but was cut off by a sudden chill that ran down her spine. She could feel eyes stare into her back and straightened a little, not daring to turn around. Her gaze was fixed on Uvani who slowly rose, a small smile tugging on his lips. Slowly the Dunmer walked around the table, followed by Arquen's gaze, and held his arms out to the side.

"Welcome home, Brother. I feared you would not come."

Lucien chuckled darkly beneath his hood and pulled his fellow Speaker into a warrior hug.

"And leave all the fun to you alone?"

Finally, Arquen turned around by the sound of the dark and hauntingly familiar voice, and her eyes went wide. Slowly the Imperial reached up and removed his hood, his dark cold eyes briefly meeting Arquen's. The Altmer swallowed.

"You really want to leave us so soon, Alval?"

Lucien asked, returning his attention to the Dunmer, who's smile widened a little.

"I had hoped, we could talk a little more."

The mer inclined his head a little.

"Now, if you insist, I think I could stay a little longer."

Slowly the Altmer woman rose, her gaze darkening, as she glared at the older mer.

"You knew?"

She hissed, to which Alval nodded.

"I had my suspicions. But you understand that you would be the last person I'd share my thoughts with. We already met earlier this day though."

He earned a sour face from the female. Lucien stepped around the table and put his hands on Ocheeva's shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he fixed Arquen with a cold stare.

"I reclaim my position and my Sanctuary! I'm above all suspicion and dealt with the traitor."

He paused a brief moment.

"You, however, are not welcomed here any longer. I want you gone by the morning!"

"Lucien... "

She began but the Imperial held his hand up to stop her.

"You should prepare for your journey. I have some important things to discuss here. Without you!"

Arquen had no words for that. And by the look in Alval's eyes no support from him either. She shook her head and whispered her goodbyes to the Dunmeri Speaker, promising him, to inform the Listener. When the Dunmer finally turned his attention back to Lucien he found the Imperial in a tight hug with the Argonian. A smile tugged at his lips. These Argonians had been with the Brotherhood for all their lives, Lucien was like a father to them. How relieved they must be to have him back.  
Lucien freed himself out of Ocheeva's tight hug and turned towards Vicente.

"Good to see you back, old friend."

He said. The vampire smiled at the Imperial.

"Same here. But please. Next time, please don't use a necromancer on me."

Lucien chuckled and finally sat down at the table.

"I'm sorry it caused you discomfort, it just seemed to be the best option at the moment."

Vicente rolled his eyes, yet laughed.

"I will not argue. I'm back and there will be no second time I'll let myself be handle like this."

The vampire shared a long looked with the Imperial and Lucien understood. After a while he said.

"I believe we should call the Sanctuary together. I have some explaining to do."

Vicente nodded.

"It'll be my pleasure."


	23. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Winter came and went as did spring and summer. And finally fall turned the leaves of the trees golden and red. In his little chamber at the Arcane University, Sorilkad lay tugged in his bed. Though his sleep was far from peaceful as he tossed and turned with a nightmare.

 _Lucien revealed himself to another Imperial. The other man - a young handsome Imperial with blue eyes and golden hair, had recently come to fame across all Cyrodiil. He was dubbed Hero of Kvatch and Divine Crusader. Well liked and respected by all._

Sweat began to form on Sorilkad's forehead as he turned in bed, tossing his bedsheet to the ground.

 _Both men seemed to argue in his dream and then the Hero drew his dagger and rammed it into Lucien's heart._

The scene shifted and Sorilkad found him standing in a clearing beneath the twin moons.

 _A young, beautiful Dunmer woman came across the clearing in a thin gown. Nightshade decorated her deep black hair, that waved down her back. She smiled up at the mage, as she finally reached him. She pulled one frail flower out of her hair and put it into Sorilkad's, before cupping his cheek, gently running her thumb over his tattooed cheek._

"Thank you, Sorilkad."

She said. Her voice rich and low.

"For taking care of my child. I need to ask you for one last favour though."

Sorilkad cocked his head to the side.

"What do you want me to do, mother?"

He asked, his tone sincere. She smiled at him, turning away, slowly fading into the night.

"Go to Fort Nikel!"

Her body turned into nightshade leaves flying away on a warm breeze.

"Hurry!"

Sorilkad awoke in his bed alone, still hearing the woman's voice in his mind. His heart pounded so rapidly against his chest it hurt. He swung his legs over the bed and went to his nightstand, splashing his face with water. As he looked up, his eyes met his reflection in the polished silver mirror. For a moment he just stared at himself with wide eyes. One strand of his hair had turned as white as snow. He sat down in a nearby chair and raised that strand of white to his eye level with a shaking hand.

"Lucien..."

He whispered, his heart heavy. A year ago, he had found his friend in that cottage. One year ago, he had done so much more than to heal his friend. He had pulled him back from the dead, giving part of his own life force to the Imperial. And now his friend was gone, the bond that he had to the Imperial cut. And as the Imperial had died, his life force was spent and his hair had turned white.  
Sorilkad flinched and jumped up, remembering his dream. In great haste, he pulled his tunic over his head and hurried out of his little chamber.  
A little while later Mannimarco's hooves thundered over the old bridge leading from the Imperial City to Weye. A little further up the road, the Dunmer rode, as the ragged walls of the ruined Fort Nikel came to view. Dark and foreboding the high walls stood against the pale light of early morning. There he jumped from his grey gelding's back, leading the horse on its reins into the fort's yard. He did not have to search long. His friend lay next to the dying embers of a fire, staring up at the sky with greying eyes.  
For a long time, he stood over the cold body of his friend, mourning his loss. The sun already stood high as he finally carried his friend's corpse to his horse. He would not leave him here to rot in the wild. He would take care of him one last time.

* * *

With a long drawn out sigh, Cardad stormed out of the Falkreath Sanctuary. He needed the cold air of Skyrim to cool his head off. He hated Astrid. If it wasn't against the laws of the Dark Brotherhood, he would have killed her already, turning her corpse into a mindless thrall. As Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, he should at least get a little respect from her. But all that woman did was treat him like her personal errand boy. He sat down on a giant, snow-covered boulder, not caring for the cold seeping into his body and looked at the old weathered scroll in his hand with disdain.

"With Vici's murder, you've started us down a path the Dark Brotherhood hasn't travelled in centuries."

He said, giving his best mock impersonation of Astrid.

"And what do I get for all my work? A bloody scroll!"

He ran his hand through his black hair, that was shaved off to both sides of his skull and unwrapped the scroll. The scowl on his face darkened even more.

"A ghost? Is she fucking kidding me? She's giving me a spell to summon a bloody ghost?"

He put the scroll aside clenching his hands into tight fists.

"I'm experienced enough in the field of Necromancy to raise my own army of skeletons and she's giving me a bloody ghost."

He concentrated shortly on the spell and released his energy in front of him. The air instantly grew denser and the silvery outlines of a person formed in front of his eyes. For a long moment, the Listener simply stared at the ghost, waiting for it to say something. To impress him somehow. Instead, the ghost seemed to consider him curiously.  
The apparition had expected to be summoned by Astrid again. A woman he festered a deep disdain against, yet had to follow her. This now came as a surprise and he felt, that the bond that tied him to Astrid had been broken. He stared into the deep red eyes of a middle-aged Dunmer. Black hair, cut into a Mohawk ponytail, a face with high cheekbones and sharp angles. Red circles were tattooed over one half of the face. The ghost smiled. That mer reminded him of another Dunmer, one he called a friend so long ago. The Dunmer in front of him huffed grumpily.

"Great... a ghost. And a boring one."

The smile on the apparition faded and he raised an eyebrow in slight annoyance.

"Not only a Ghost."

The Spectral Assassin said. The Dunmer stood up, circling the ghost.

"Nope... just a ghost. A soul bound to a weathered old scroll..."

A sour look appeared on the face of the apparition.

"What's about Dunmer and their attitude. If you weren't the Listener you'd lie dead at my feet already."

Cardad sighed.

"Yeah...whatever. Listen... I don't really need a ghost to help me. Go back to the Void for all I care."

He turned to leave but was stopped by an ice cold hand landing on his shoulder.

"We are bonded now, you and I. Joined through the powers of the Void."

The Dunmer stared at him with a grim expression.

"That information has just improved my day...not. Please don't tell me you follow me around now."

A pause and again, the ghost was reminded of a mer he had known so long ago. The Listener looked at the spectre again.

"You do follow me around now... Great."

His glance briefly went up to the sky, silently cursing Astrid.

"Well then... at least tell me your name. It's strange enough running around with a ghostly companion, I don't want to call you Spectral Assassin all the time."

The Ghost let his gaze wander for a moment. It had been so long since anyone had asked for his name. In the beginning, every one knew...but as time progressed those he knew died and people started to forget. His name... when was the last time he had spoken it?

"My name is...Lucien Lachance."

The Dunmer stared at him for a long moment, his face emotionless. Then his gaze fell to the scroll again. Very carefully he picked it up and took a closer look at it. His eyes went wide. The Spectral Assassin cocked his head to the side. Did his name ring a bell in that Dunmer?

"You are Lucien?"

Cardad finally asked his voice no more than a harsh whisper over the wind. The ghost nodded, his interest peaked.

"Your name is in my grandfather's journal a lot. He spoke very fondly of you...but he ...lost you."

The ghost of Lucien Lachance narrowed his eyes a little on the mer.

"Your grandfather?"

The Dunmer nodded.

"He was the one who bound you to the scroll. But one day it vanished from his possessions. He believed that a thief had taken it."

Lucien nodded and for a moment he could see his friend's face very clearly in that mer's features. It had been so long since he had seen any of his friends. And it filled him with great sorrow to know, that everyone he knew so long ago had died already. Turned to dust, while he lived through the centuries, alone and treated like an object. He sighed deeply. He had always hoped, that one day he would be bound to someone who really cared for his advice and not only uses him as a distraction. The ghost looked up, into the Dunmer's eyes, studying them carefully, trying to see something in there that reminded him of his life.

"What is your name?"

Lucien finally asked.

"Cardad Malur."

The man answered, a small smile tugging on his lips.

"Come, Lucien, walk with me."

He invited the assassin with a gesture while starting down the path. Lucien gladly followed.

"Maybe you can tell me about my Grandfather. When he died, I was only a little kid myself and the memories of him are blurry."

A smile lit Lucien's features up. After all these years, he felt like he finally had a purpose again. Protect and advise the Listener, like he had done in life. A Listener that connected him to his past. With Cardad at his side, he felt whole. He lived...again.


End file.
